


In Your Absence

by WandererRiha



Series: Brokeback [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, Ace Ignis, Blind Ignis, Brokeback - Freeform, Disabled Noctis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Slowest Burn, demi Ignis, disabled Ignis, disabled ravus, everyone lives dammit, gray ace Ignis, let them be happy, like madly chipping flint and steel and screaming "BURN BLAST YOU!!!", that kind of slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2019-10-27 23:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 78,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: A continuation of my "Brokeback" AU in which Niflheim took over Lucis before Tenebrae.Ten years without Noctis, but surrounded by friends, as told by Ignis Scientia.





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you keeping score for this particular AU:  
> \- Queen Sylva couldn't heal Noctis when he was attacked by the Marilith  
> \- Regis traded his son's health for control of Lucis to Niflheim  
> \- Ravus and Luna didn't lose their mum until much later, though Ravus still lost his arm  
> \- Prompto's a cyborg  
> \- Episode Ignis went more or less as it did in the game  
> \- Luna ain'tn't dead and neither is Ravus  
> \- We're now down one party member since Noctis is stuck in the Crystal
> 
> We now return you to your irregularly scheduled fanfic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis is not yet used to the dark.  
> At least there are hugs.

Ignis has had nightmares before. Even as an adult, he still has them. Usually they involve the sort of mundane nonsense one might expect: showing up to a council meeting without his trousers, trying to assemble everything last minute for school despite having finished his formal education years ago, he’s even had a rather absurd one that involved ruining every dish he’d tried to prepare for a meal. The ruined food had then chased him around the house. He’d established his “no Ebony after 4pm” rule after that.

What makes it hard now, is that he can’t flick the bedside lamp on and know that he is in bed, in his room, hyperventilating over images that exist only in his head. There is no light now, only darkness. It’s been weeks. Sometimes it feels like minutes, other times like years. All he has is a small sliver off to one side that flashes brightly if there is light. When the sun disappears, or the lights are shut off, he loses it, and he is plunged into utter void. It is disconcerting to say the least.

Above all things, Ignis has been trained to serve. Now he must let others serve him, at least until he can get his bearings. He fears he never will. Determination can work wonders, but not in the time they have. He needs to be able to perform his duties _now_. Suddenly tasks he’s done since childhood have become impossible. He tries, he fails, and tries again. He has always been so sure of himself, but now he isn’t. Perhaps it would be best if he were to stay behind? Noctis has Lady Lunafreya and her brother, Lord Ravus, to help him. No one will notice if he steps back.

Except Noctis will not hear of it. Neither will Gladio, or little Prompto, or the Nox Fleurets. For some reason, this both surprises and touches him more than he had expected. Reluctantly, Ignis agrees to continue on. They promise to help him. He promises to try. It’s something.

When they lose Noctis, the nightmares become worse.

He is running in the dark, his friends calling out to him in pain and terror, begging for help, but he cannot find them. He reaches out, expecting to touch Noctis, only to find he’s put his hand into the Prince’s rotting corpse. The dreams do not specify, but Ignis knows the grisly death is his fault.

Ignis starts awake with a half-swallowed shout, flailing a bit in the tangled bedclothes. Beside him, Ravus stirs and reaches out a hand. Gladio and Prompto have taken to sharing when they can afford the luxury of a motel. He and Ravus have the other bed, and Luna- he’s come to think of her as that now- has the flop-out couch to herself.

“Ignis?” Ravus’ voice is low and rough from sleep. His hand descends to Ignis’ shoulder, making him start.

“It’s Ravus,” the prince tells him. “You’re alright.”

Obediently, Ignis calms, or tries to. He’s quieter now, holding onto Ravus’ remaining hand for dear life. He’s shaking. He can’t help it. This is his fault. Noctis is gone because of him. The world has gone dark. Noctis is gone. His fault, his fault, his fault, his fault…

“Hush...”

Ravus draws him close, tucks Ignis’ head under his chin in an impromptu hug. Ignis knots his fingers in Ravus’ shirt and tries not to sob. It doesn’t work very well. Ravus says nothing, just strokes his hair. After a while, the tears hurt less, and Ignis has calmed enough to sleep again. He nods off just as the sliver of white at the edge of his vision begins to lighten with the first fingers of dawn.

They let him sleep in. Ravus’ chest is not beneath his cheek when he wakes up, and Ignis wonders how mortified he ought to be. Ravus, however, has not gone far.

“Morning,” Ravus tells him.

“Is it?” Ignis asks, choosing to deliberately misinterpret the greeting.

“Yes. Late, but still morning. 10am.”

That’s late for him. Ignis is horrified, but Ravus gently presses down on his shoulder to keep him from jumping up.

“It’s fine,” he says. “We managed. Not coffee and croissants, but we did alright.”

He presses a bowl into Ignis’ hands. There’s a spoon scraping against the rim. “Nothing fancy, but at least it’s not burnt.”

The powdery-fruit scent of instant oatmeal hits Ignis’ nose and he smiles a little. It would indeed take talent to burn instant oatmeal with only water from a motel hot pot. He waits until Ravus has shuffled on the carpet, presumably stepping away or turning his back, before attempting to eat. He’s a bit clumsy still, and he’d prefer not to have a witness to any mess he might make.

\--

There’s a sort of division of labor between Ravus and himself. Ravus becomes his eyes, Ignis makes up for Ravus’ missing hand. It isn’t perfect, it takes them a while to establish a rhythm, but they work better with each other than any other member of the team.

Does it fulfill some sort of trope that the two handicapped members of the party should gravitate to one another? Perhaps it’s their shared Tenebrean roots. Ignis was born in Tenebrae, learned to speak from Tenebraen parents, and lived there long enough to acquire an accent. It’s not as pronounced as the Nox Fleuret’s, but it’s unquestionably there. Little regional in-jokes and phrases that he hasn’t heard in ages creep back into conversation. He laughs at a remark that sails over both Gladio and Prompto’s heads. He tries to explain, but it’s one of those things that can only be experienced in order to be appreciated. Ignis hadn’t realized he’d missed this.

It takes them all a while to adjust to life without Noctis. For a while they had camped in the Gralean Keep, but eventually could not justify staying there. They needed food, water, supplies, and the light just kept getting shorter and the temperatures colder. Prompto had assured them they did not want to try to weather a Garlean winter in the clothes they stood up in. It had been wrenching, but in the end, they’d had to leave. There were others who needed them more.

They have two tents. They don’t use them. There is some vague mumbling about how a lady ought to have her own space, but it’s empty formality. One more person in a four-man tent isn’t _that_ much of a squeeze. Prompto and Luna together add up to one of Gladio or Ravus. It’s tight, but not unbearable. Besides, with the light fading, it’s cold, and they all appreciate the shared heat. Gladio takes one end, then Prompto, Ignis in the middle, then Ravus and Luna at the other end. Ignis is reasonably sure no one sleeps that night. He certainly doesn’t.

They hold to that order the next time they camp, and the next. When they finally reach a motel, the men take the beds and Luna the cot or sofa. There is some chivalrous nonsense, but she dismisses it. She’s not interested in splitting a bed with her brother. Apparently she’d rather sleep dogpile alongside everyone, or by herself.

The nightmares ebb and flow. Some nights are better than others. Mostly Ignis is so tired that he does not dream at all. It isn’t often he has time for a full REM cycle. He hates and loves dreaming. It is the only way he can see the faces of those he loves. It isn’t often he wakes up with a shout in a cold sweat anymore, but it does happen.

When it does, Ravus starts awake with him.

“Ignis,” the tone is gentle, yet firm. It calls him back to reality, to the chilly tent and the hard stone beneath his sleeping bag. Ignis rolls into the arm that unfolds for him. By now this is familiar, an acceptable way to receive comfort. They are comrades in arms, teammates, friends. Ignis is beyond grateful that their remaining prince allows him this. Ravus will hold him until he calms, and say nothing about it in the morning. Around them, the others snore undisturbed.

Ignis freezes as Ravus touches his lips to his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Ravus mumbles after half a beat.

“No, I…” Ignis stammers. “It’s...it’s...” He cannot complete the sentence. Is he reading too much into the gesture? Surely it was done simply to calm, to comfort, and nothing more. Yet drawn so close, he can feel the embarrassed heat radiating off of Ravus’ face.

“When Lunafreya’s upset, she comes to me and I do my best to comfort her,” Ravus explains. “I forgot myself. Please excuse me.”

Ignis nods. “Of course.”

Strangely, there’s a part of Ignis that’s disappointed. It does make sense, however. He’s done the same for Noctis many times. The thought makes him swallow hard. It hurts.

“Ignis?” It isn’t until Ravus’ thumb smears wetness across his cheek that Ignis realizes a tear has escaped. He feels his cheeks burn and he turns his face away.

“Ignis,” Ravus says again gently. “Do not be ashamed to grieve for your prince, for yourself.”

But he is ashamed. He’s felt like a fool since the crystal took Noctis. If he’s honest, as long as Noct was still with them, his eyesight had seemed a small price to pay for his prince’s safety. Now...it feels as if he’s taken a foolish risk and come up short. He’s impaired himself, and by association the rest of the group. He can try and try and exert himself to the ends of his strength but it isn’t enough. He does not deserve the patience, the kindness they have shown him.

“I feel as if I’ve failed,” he admits. “Failed Noctis, all of you, myself…”

“Luna would say we’re a pair of noble, self-sacrificing idiots. We’re both guilty of the same thing: we care too little for our own wellbeing.”

Ignis blinks. It’s a reflex, one tied to confusion and a small measure of shock.

“I’m not sorry I lost my arm to protect my sister. If faced with the choice a second time, I would still do the same. I believe you would too.”

Ignis nods, silent.

“You have my respect,” Ravus tells him. “We made our choices freely, but that doesn’t mean they were without consequence or pain. You need not suffer in silence. Let us show you the same care that you have shown to us.”

Taking a deep breath, Ignis nods and lets Ravus draw him close. He’s big like Gladio, solid and warm. The subtle thump of his heartbeat beneath Ignis’ ear is reassuring. Noctis is still gone, the world is still falling to pieces outside, but Ignis finds peace enough to sleep.


	2. Pit Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ravus receives an upgrade.

They all look out for him, especially Prompto and Ravus. It seems one of them is never far from his side. They guide him out of the cold, back toward the warmer- if not necessarily brighter- climes of Hammerhead. 

Luna drives with Prompto navigating. The back seat is a little crowded, wedged as he is between Ravus and Gladio. Ignis says nothing. Driving without the wheel beneath his hands is disorienting to say the extreme least. However, it’s fascinating to watch the ghosts of trees and telephone poles flash past. The objects are not moving, but he is. He can see the wipers whip back and forth, as well as the patter and splash of the rain as it begins to fall. Luna’s ponytail is briefly visible here and there as she watches the road, as is the back of Prompto’s head. If it’s moving, he can see it. Otherwise, despite being hemmed in tightly by Ravus and Gladio, Ignis feels alone, lost in a parallel universe in which he is the only inhabitant.

When they stop, someone reaches and tucks his free hand under their elbow. It isn’t Gladio’s wild grab, Prompto’s hesitant touch, or Luna’s delicate fingers. Also, it’s his left arm they take.

“I’m fine, your Highness,” Ignis says, caught between embarrassed and grateful. On one hand, it’s a blow to his pride. On the other, blundering into oncoming traffic would no doubt incur far worse injuries. Ravus ignores his protests and instead cautions him of a broken bit of asphalt just ahead, leading him wide of the hindrance.

The walking stick that Noctis gave to him feels like a lifeline, a touchstone, the last thing he has to link him to the person to which he was meant to devote his own life. Ignis feels adrift, lost, and not just because he can no longer see where he’s going. Fingers clutching the brass handle, he sweeps the cane in front of him. The pavement is indeed broken and uneven.

“Well howdy!” A familiar voice calls. “Jeepers! Ya’ll look like ya took a long walk off a short cliff.”

That’s Cindy. Her assessment is fair, Ignis thinks. There is a significant and weighty pause. He can only assume she’s taken a headcount and come up one short. Also, she’s not seen Ignis since before Altissia. She whispers a word that cannot contain more than four letters.

“C’mon in,” she says and Ignis feels her hand on his other arm. “I’ll tell Paw-Paw you’re here.”

Cid graciously books them a caravan at a reduced rate. They’ve been traveling rough, and Ignis is certain he’s not the only one glad of a hot shower and a soft bed. Rather than attempt to cook, they splurge and eat at the diner. Oddly enough, the one thing they have plenty of right now is money. That won’t last. Ignis has been keeping a mental tally of what they’ve got, and their stores are pathetically low right now. They’ll need curatives, lots of them. It wouldn’t hurt to have their weapons serviced, and everyone’s clothes must be in a dreadful state.

“Burger at 3, fries at 9, ketchup and pickle at noon,” Prompto mumbles to him as they squeeze into a booth to eat. At least diner food doesn’t require three forks and a selection of wines. There is a certain level of expectation that condiments will be spilled. The Crow’s Nest serves their burgers wrapped in a little waxed paper pocket, and Ignis has never been more grateful for it. Everyone is very quiet as they eat. They’re all tired and hungry. No one has made much of an attempt to banter since... Ignis’ appetite deserts him and he puts the half-eaten burger down.

“Finished?” Ravus inquires.

“I’m afraid I’m not very hungry, your Highness.”

“In that case, would you care to accompany me?” Ravus asks before the others can launch into cajoling Ignis to eat more. “I need to see a man about an arm.”

There is stunned silence as Ravus and Ignis rise and exit the diner. Ignis ignores it and follows Ravus out the door and over to the garage.

“Excuse me?” Ravus asks.

“S’up, your Highness?” Cindy replies. “What can I do ya for?”

“Would you know the name of someone who specializes in prosthetics?”

“Someone who ain’t attached to a hospital, I reckon?”

Hospitals mean Imperials. “It would be preferable, yes.”

There is a long pause as Cindy considers. “Well, there’s a feller out Caem way. Most a’ his clients are Hunters. Ya’ll probably drove past ‘em on your way here.”

“Do you know if he’d be discreet?”

“Honey, he patches up Hunters for a livin’. I think you can trust ‘em to keep your name off the front page.”

“Very good. Do you have any idea what his fee would be?”

“Ya’ll’re gonna hafta ask him.”

“I see. Thank you.”

\--

“Okay,” Prompto announces upon entering the caravan. “We got a set of bunk beds, a full bed, and a couch. We callin’ dibs or pullin’ cards?”

Despite himself, Ignis smiles.

“Princess,” there’s no mocking in Gladio’s voice now, “why don’t you and Prompto take the bunk beds.”

“I get top bunk!” Prompto calls out. Luna gives a soft giggle.

“Paper-rock-scissors for who gets to share and who gets the couch?” Gladio suggests.

There is a surprisingly awkward pause. For a moment, everyone is perhaps too polite.

“Shoot,” Ravus says.

Gladio loses. He’ll sleep on the sofa tonight.

Ignis tries to hurry though his shower- there are other people who should have the luxury of hot water- but it’s awkward. Actual bathing isn’t that difficult, thank the Six, but putting himself back together proves interesting. He’s certain his hair is sticking up in all directions, and the buttons of his pajama top are probably done up wrong, but he can’t bring himself to care. At least there isn’t enough space to lose things in the tiny caravan bathroom.

Upon opening the bathroom door, he can hear Ravus and Luna chatting quietly.

“What’s brought this on?” Luna asks.

“It’s time I did my fair share,” Ravus says. “I should have looked into having my arm replaced long ago.”

“Ravus…” her tone is so gentle it hurts. “Are you quite sure?”

“Ignis has done much more with much less. I cannot hold myself to a lesser standard. I’ve tried and failed. I cannot protect you with but one hand.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

They stop short at Ignis blundering across the carpet. Ravus gets up. It’s his turn for the shower. Luna also stands to let Ignis pass. The space between the sofa and the table is narrow.

“Would you like me to…” she trails off as Ignis shakes his head.

“Thank you, My Lady, I do not require anything.”

After a moment, her footsteps wander off and vanish with a crush of fabric. He can only assume she’s retired to her bunk. There are heavier footsteps. That’s Prompto, climbing down and coming over to sit with him. Ignis finds his shoulder and pats it. Prompto places his hand over Ignis’.

“Hangin’ in there?” Prompto asks.

Ignis nods. “I’m managing.”

“Yeah you are”. There’s a smile, even pride present in the words. “You know we’re here if you need us, right?”

Ignis smiles for him. “Yes of course. I would be lost without all of you.”

“S’why you always have me navigate.”

That prompts a chuckle. “Indeed.”

Prompto vacates when Ravus returns. He was last in line for the shower. Ignis watches as a shadow of someone tall and broad wanders past. Ignis scoots closer to the wall as Ravus sits down. The sliver of light that tells him if it’s day or night blinks out as someone cuts the lights.

Later, Ignis surfaces from a blessedly deep and dreamless sleep. Something has alerted him to wakefulness. It takes him a minute to realize that Ravus is no longer next to him, and someone is crying. Crying, and struggling not to be heard. There’s the rumble of a male voice; soothing noises, perhaps words. The voice is too low to make out. The sobs are not pitched right for a man. It must be Luna who’s crying and Ravus has gotten up to comfort her.

“He isn’t dead,” Luna sobs. “I know it, but…”

“I know,” Ravus says quietly. “I know.”

“Ravus, we _left_ him there!”

“Luna, we had to. You know that. We lingered in the Keep for days, in Gralea for weeks. You know as well as I that we could not stay.”

“I know...”

“We’ll see him again. Noctis must return to restore Light to Eos. You’ve told me so yourself a hundred times.”

She sniffles miserably.

“Your prince will return to you, fear not.”

Satisfied that no one is in immediate peril, Ignis decides it’s none of his business and focuses on going back to sleep.

\--

After their stay, dinner, and replenishing their stores, their funds are significantly depleted. They’ll have to take a hunt or two in order to make ends meet, especially if Ravus is getting...an upgrade.

The hunter post where the ‘feller’ that Cindy recommended will require them to backtrack a fair bit. It’s alright. They can afford the time, and hopefully the new prosthetic. As it turns out, the fee isn’t too exorbitant, at least not to one accustomed to crown city prices. It’s a lot of money for a Hunter to carry, however. If they pool their resources and take another hunt, they’ll have enough.

The procedure is familiar, but in all the worst ways. Ignis can imagine Ravus lying awake and sedated in the modified dentist’s chair, just conscious enough to be in pain. Ignis and Gladio are waiting outside. Luna is inside, holding her brother’s hand. Prompto is also there to lend his expertise. Ravus’ arm, however, is not powered by magitek, but by a tiny sliver of meteor shard.

It’s almost comical as Ravus waves them all away. To the Lucians, this is muscle memory. They know what to do, how to deal with this, but Ravus does not, and he doesn’t want their help.

“Leave me be,” he slurs, annoyed. “M’fine.”

It isn’t until later, after the anesthesia wears off and the pain sets in, that he changes his mind.

“ _Ow!_ ” Ravus shouts as Gladio massages his neck and shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Gladio says mildly. “You’re all cramped up. I know this is a foreign concept for you, but try to relax.”

Ravus grits his teeth and tries not to grunt in pain.

“He did a nice job,” Prompto observes. “Reminds me a little of what… Um. It looks like a hybrid of Insomnian and Niflheim tech.”

Only Luna is not afraid to speak Noctis’ name. “I’ll bet Noctis never cried,” she teases gently.

“Cried like a baby every time,” Gladio says evenly. “Never screamed, but yeah, he cried.”

“Manly tears,” Prompto agrees.

Ignis feels himself smile, but it’s heavy. Maybe one day they will all smile freely, but for now, it feels like betrayal. Ravus, at least, is whole again.


	3. Fraternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is extended family.

To say things are in an uproar is something of an understatement. Apparently, with Noctis and Luna having disappeared from the public eye, Niflheim had made a bid to assert their authority over the handful of free territories still standing. It hasn’t gone as planned. There are rogue MT units running amok, as well as a sudden uptick in daemons making life difficult. The radio spouts alarming, and often conflicting reports of the state of various cities and nations. Hammerhead is swarming with MT troops- this is patently untrue, they’ve just come from Hammerhead. Altissia has sunk beneath the waves - it was in rough shape when they left, but Ignis sincerely doubts it’s as bad as all that. Lestallum is under Imperial lockdown - this is also unlikely, as they stopped there briefly on their way to Hammerhead. Insomnia has been burnt to the ground, its citizens scattered - this is the one that makes everyone nervous. It has been a long time indeed since they’ve been inside the walls of the crown city.

“So, what do we do?” Gladio asks.

It’s a good question. The five of them cannot challenge the Empire alone, even allowing for the malfunctioning robots. If they stood a fighting chance, they would have stopped and launched their campaign from Tenebrae. As it was, they’d had to make a furtive dash past the Nox Fleuret’s home in a desperate bid to cross the ocean before the Empire took note.

“We need to figure out what’s true and what isn’t,” Luna says decisively. “If Lestallum has maintained its autonomy, that would be a good place to start.”

“What about home?” Ravus asks. “The people would surely rally behind you--”

“And be gunned down within minutes,” Luna finishes. “Tenebrae never had much of an army, and now we have none at all. I will not see our people needlessly slaughtered a second time. We’ll return. We will. But not until we’ve got a solid plan in place to liberate it.”

Well. Her Majesty has spoken and no one is about to argue. There’s a shifting from the front seat, and at length, Prompto speaks up.

“They’re not robots, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“The MT’s. They’re not robots. Not...not completely. They’re like me. I was supposed to be one, but I was defective. They could never get my uplink to work properly. That’s why they couldn’t use me to find us.”

There follows a thunderous silence. It isn’t news that Prompto’s robot bits were put there by the Empire, but as to what purpose, no one had fully considered. Gladio and Ignis had long thought he was some sort of spying mechanism, despite all evidence to the contrary. If Prompto is a failed soldier… Ignis suddenly feels sick.

“That time when I went back for maintenance,” Prompto continues. “I saw things. Learned things. I didn’t say anything at the time because...well...what good would it have done? There wasn’t anything we could have done about it.”

“Is there something we can do now?” Luna wants to know.

“Well, maybe?” Prompto hazards. “It depends on why the MTs are going rogue. Is it a problem with the command uplink, or with their actual programming, or both?”

“Are you saying we could potentially control them?” Ravus asks.

“I’m saying if we set them free, you’d have a million soldiers desperate to show you how grateful they are.”

More silence follows.

“How would we go about that?” Luna wants to know.

“Well, we’d need to figure out a couple of things first. Are the MT’s orders being relayed locally from their unit commander, or directly from Gralea? If they’re sent locally, it doesn’t matter where we start. If they’re all coming from the Keep, we’d have to go back there to shut it off, or at the very least, alter the signal.

“If that works, we’ll have determined how much they’re acting under their own impulses. If it’s just a programming flaw, we can at least redirect them. If they’ve...woken up, we can set them free and ask for volunteers. I’m pretty sure you’ll have a lot of takers.”

“So in effect, we’ll have stolen Niflheim’s army,” Ravus finishes.

“More or less,” Prompto agrees. “There’s just...one other thing you guys oughtta know.”

“And what’s that?”

“They’re clones. All of them. Under the armor...they all look like me.”

Ignis had not thought the shocked silences could become more profound, but apparently he is wrong. His mind cannot take it in, cannot process it. All of those MT units- the ones marauding in the streets, the ones that stormed Tenebrae and killed Queen Sylva, the ones Ignis and the others cut down as they made their way to the Crystal- they were people. Humans. Prompto’s brothers. Ignis really thinks he might be ill. It must show on his face for Gladio places a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay there, Iggy?”

“Fine,” he croaks. Ravus shakes off his fog of painkiller enough to lean closer and nudge him with his new elbow. Ignis can’t help but smile a little at that.

“So we must return to Tenebrae after all?” Ravus sounds perhaps a little too hopeful at that.

“Eventually,” Luna promises. “Let us test Prompto’s theory first. Then we’ll make our way north.”

\--

Lestallum and Duscae are indeed under martial law, but by their own edict. They’ve erected an electric fence of sorts to keep Niflheim and the rogue MTs out. So far, it seems to be working well. Indeed, it takes some persuasion to be allowed into the city proper. Before, they had stopped for little more than fuel- for themselves and the Regalia. They had made a mad dash south primarily staying at havens rather than risk wandering into more heavily populated areas.

Iris and Talcott are happy to see them. Or at least, they sound it. Ignis cannot- and does not really wish to- avoid a hug from both of them. Drop ships rumble overhead, but zoom straight past. It’s alarming the first few times. Seems they are more to wrangle their rogue troops than to launch an assault on anyone. The upshot is that they don’t have to wait long for one of the ships to descend with a pack of rampaging tin soldiers. No, not tin soldiers. People. Men. Prompto’s brothers.

Ignis fancies he’s getting the hang of this. Oddly enough, the rapid pace of battle is where his limited vision is most useful. It’s like watching things in black-and-white, or perhaps shadow puppets on a tent wall. He is sometimes quicker to notice movement among the brush and foliage than the others. The idea this time, however, is to deactivate or incapacitate the soldiers rather than destroy them. There are people under that armor; people who don’t know their own minds. Ignis wishes for Noctis and a lightning spell which would be sure to hurt, but would also knock them all flat within a heartbeat.

Since they don’t have Noctis, what they do instead is keep the troopers occupied until Prompto can get into the drop ship and try to access its control panel.

“ _IGNIS!_ ” Ravus shouts.

Ignis can only assume he’s in immediate peril of being sliced in half, but wishes his teammates would learn to shout _directions_ and not simply his name. He doesn’t even get a chance to dive to one side. There is an almighty _CRACK_ and the earth is pulled out from under him. Light flashes brilliantly before his sightless eyes in an explosion of electricity. There’s a collective thud as the MT’s abruptly keel over.

“What…?” Ignis asks, still shaky, as someone lifts him under the arms. He thinks it’s Gladio.

“The hell was _that?_ ” Yes, it’s Gladio.

“I...I have no idea…” Ravus stammers, sounding as shaken as Ignis feels.

“The blessing of Ramuh,” Luna answers quietly. “Brother…”

“Later,” Ravus says, sheathing his sword. “Prompto?”

“Got it!” Prompto’s voice calls.

“So what is it?” Gladio asks. “Near or far?”

“Far,” Prompto’s tone is annoyed. “I think we can still shut these guys down, but we’re gonna have to do it individually. Get them inside. Without their armor, they’ll melt in the sun.”

Gladio and Ravus do most of the dragging of the dozen MTs back into the drop ship. Ignis does his best to help, but he just isn’t as strong as they are. He and Luna make a lighter job of it together. Ignis can only stand aside, feeling useless, as Prompto gets the helmet off of the first disabled MT. There is a collective intake of breath once the helmet clatters to the floor.

“ _Shit,_ ” Gladio hisses. “You weren’t kidding!”

“What?” Ignis demands.

“He looks just like Prom-- or Prom with a bad haircut, anyway.”

There’s a frantic rustling and muttered curses as Prompto looks over the soldier. “Okay buddy, let’s see here. Yeah, don’t you give me that firewall self-destruct bullshit. No offense, but my phone has better security than you do, pal. Just sayin’. Right. That’s done. Now. You got a name, dude?”

“Chrz…” the MT slurs, and it’s beyond disconcerting to hear Prompto’s voice in a different tone and cadence.

“CRZ112017643,” Prompto reads off. “Can we call you ‘Chris’?”

“Chriz…”

“Close enough. You okay there, dude?”

Ignis can see the ghosts of motion as the soldier turns his head to look at them. Even with such limited information, it’s clear he’s confused.

“Does he only speak Nif?” Gladio suggests.

Prompto rattles off something in Nifle. To Ignis, is sounds as if he’s trying to talk through a terrible cold. The soldier does not reply.

Prompto exhales through his nose. “Okay. So. Let’s try something else. Report.”

“Zirrrr?” the soldier says.

“Mission report.”

The soldier’s head bobs, as if he’s trying hard to cough up words that will not come.

“At ease,” Prompto tells him, and at once the soldier slumps against the wall.

“Do you understand me?”

A nod.

“Are you able to answer me?”

He shakes his head. Prompto whispers a curse and stands. “I was afraid of this.”

“What?” That’s Ravus.

“I could read, but not much else until I started sitting in on Noct’s lessons,” Prompto says. “I could speak, but it was mostly standard military responses. Chris is sentient, there’s somebody in there, but he’s limited as to how he can interact.”

“A game of Questions, then,” Luna speaks up. There is a rustle as she kneels down in front of Chris.

“I am Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Oracle of the Astrals and Queen of Tenebrae. You have my permission to speak freely.”

“Ma’am,” Chris replies.

“Were you sent here on a mission?”

Chris’ head bobs again, as if he’d like to answer but can’t.

“At ease,” Luna tells him, reaching to lay a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t know, do you.”

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s actually something I can figure out,” Prompto says. The clicking of keys suggests he’s at the control console again. “Ship’s log doesn’t mention any direct orders, just GPS coordinates for the drop. Unless they received directions by uplink, it almost looks like they were just released into the wild in default mode.”

“What’s default mode?”

Chris answers: “Engage hostiles.”

“Well, we are not hostiles, I assure you,” Luna says primly. She rises gracefully and then offers Chris a hand. He takes it and stands. Ignis has just enough time to observe that Chris is almost exactly eye-to-eye with Luna. Like Prompto, he’s on the short side for a man. Then again, those from Niflheim tend to be petite, and Tenebraens to be tall.

Chris gives a bewildered “Yes, ma’am.”

“I better shut off the other guys’ uplinks before they come to,” Prompto says. “Chris, can you give me a hand?”

“Yes, sir.”

With Chris’ help, and those of his...brothers? Cousins? Squadmates? Ignis isn’t sure how to think of them, but with more hands to do the work, it isn’t long before the other units have been restored to their senses. Such as they are. They can’t leave the drop ship without full armor, including the full-face helmets. No one in Lestallum is wild about allowing a drop ship past the electric fence. Ignis privately thinks this is fair. In the end, the troopers are allowed to stay in the parking garage. It’s close enough that daemons won’t wander in, yet removed from the greater population of the city. Also, it shelters them from direct sunlight.

“I’m gonna stay with them tonight,” Prompto announces. Everyone turns to look at him in what Ignis can only assume is abject horror. He knows that’s the look plastered across his own face.

“What? They’re not gonna eat me. They’re disarmed in every sense of the word. We’re not gonna make friends if we aren’t kind to them first!”

“You’re absolutely right, Prompto,” Luna says. “Forgive us for being perhaps...overly concerned. Might one of us stay with you as well?”

Ignis can see the whip of his head as Prompto declines. “Thank you, Princess, but no. These guys...they’re family. Extended family, but still family. I know how to talk to them. Let me get them used to the idea of being free, okay?”

Luna’s ponytail flutters in a nod. “Of course. I trust your judgement.”

That’s their new procedure from there on out. Disarm, disable, do not destroy if they can possibly avoid it. Rather than break their uplink, Prompto hacks the system and reprograms it so that the MTs will not attack unless directly assaulted. Their new mission is to resist Niflheim and aid whatever civilian population they’re nearest to. Prompto’s discovered that the MTs _can_ speak, but they’ve been trained not to. Ignis dares not imagine what might have gone into that.

However, it’s proved Prompto’s theory, and what they’ve got to do about the MT’s wreaking havoc. They’ve got to shut off the link that relays the orders to the drop ships and their occupants. That means a return trip to Gralea and the Keep.

Lestallum reluctantly adopts their new MTs. There’s some protest initially, but it turns out the MTs are the only men in town who aren’t affected by the meteor’s radiation. So that makes them a bit more appealing in the eyes of a wary populace.

“You guys be good, okay?” Prompto tells Chris and his eleven brothers, all of whom answer to names now. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Sir,” Chris says and offers a salute. Ignis blinks as a Prompto-shaped outline lunges forward and throws its arms around a second figure. The figure- it’s got to be Chris- flinches, but after a moment, awkwardly returns the gesture.

“Yeah,” Prompro says, a smile evident in his words. “You’ll be fine.”


	4. Achilles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis needs more help than he would like.

Back north, back to Gralea. That means going through Tenebrae again. Although they try to hide it, it’s evident Ravus and Luna are eager to return home. Ignis cannot deny that if they can neutralize the threat of MT soldiers, staging a gathering of power from Tenebrae would be an impressive statement indeed. Besides, it’s an opportunity to check up on Noctis.

“I’m coming too,” Iris insists. “There’s no way you’re leaving me behind this time.”

“What are you gonna do?” Gladio counters. “Ride in the trunk?”

Ignis doesn’t need to see her to envision the jut of her chin, her hands on her hips. “If I have to.”

“Perhaps it’s time we upgraded,” Luna suggests. “Can we afford to rent or purchase a car?”

Ignis takes a mental tally. They do not.

“Jared had a truck,” Iris pipes up. “I’ve been trying to sell it for Talcott, but so far no takers.”

“There you are, then,” Luna says brightly. “Iris will accompany us.”

Everyone- Ignis included- is too stunned to argue with her. He strongly suspects it would do no good anyway. They redistribute themselves with Gladio and Iris in the truck following the surviving royals and two retainers in the Regalia. Prompto still rides shotgun, leaving Ignis and Ravus to share the back seat. Gladio and Iris can share in the conversation if they so wish. Both vehicles are equipped with a bluetooth uplink.

The way back to Gralea is strangely less fraught than it was the first time. Rather, they have to worry at once both more and less about the Empire. The true concern is that Ignis is sure their daylight hours are growing shorter and shorter. It may be by minutes only, but the bright sliver of light that lets him know the sun still shines fades to gray long before dinner time. It’s too early in the year for that to happen. Too early by far.

They finally stop in Tenebrae to take stock of where things stand. Ignis cannot see the broken buildings, the ruined streets, the charred green spaces, but the Nox Fleuret’s silence is telling. 

“How bad is it?” Ignis asks.

“I don’t see any Magitek troops,” Ravus says. “Not live ones, anyway.” Yet he’s drawn his sword. Ignis can hear the metallic hiss as it slides from its scabbard.

It’s as well he has. The silence is broken as gunfire rings out.

“MTs!” Prompto shouts, returning fire. Warning shots, most likely.

“How we gonna shut these guys off?” Gladio yells over an echoing clang as his mace connects with something metal and heavy. “I don’t see any drop ships!”

“The manor!” Luna says, contributing her own sound effects to the cacophony. “This way!”

Rather than fight, they run. Someone seizes Ignis by the elbow and yanks him forward. The hand is too large to be Prompto, and Luna’s leading the charge. He can see her ponytail flapping as she runs.

“Step up!” It’s Ravus who’s got a hold of him. Ignis hurries to accommodate the obstacle.

“Again,” Ravus says. “About every five steps. There are stairs.”

Ignis tries his best, but he can’t see, and Ravus has a much longer stride. It’s more like every seven steps, but the count isn’t even. Also, he’s reasonably sure Ravus is taking them two at a time. Six, Noctis never could have done this. Gladio would have had to sling him over his shoulder. The thought is no sooner completed than Ignis pitches forward with a shout, saved from face-planting into the broken marble by Ravus’ grip alone.

“Up you get,” the prince tells him, dragging him on. “This way.”

Ignis tries to stand, but his legs will not hold him. He cannot stifle a second shout as his left leg collapses.

Ravus spits a violent curse and then the world turns sideways. Nausea rolls over Ignis at the abrupt motion. It takes him a moment to realize he’s being carried. Ravus has him slung over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and is desperately thundering up the stairs as gunfire echoes off the battered stonework. Ravus’ gait evens, but does not slow. They must be on level ground now. The light fades and a door slams. He rolls off Ravus’ shoulders and onto the floor. A third cry escapes him as his left leg connects with the broken tile.

“Shit, Iggy!”

The pain makes it hard to tell, but he’s certain those are Gladio’s big hands patting over his leg. He feels his trouser leg shoved up and warm calloused fingers on his skin. Strong arms wrap around him from behind and help him sit up.

“Peace,” Ravus says, his voice is calm and steady in sharp contrast with his rapidly beating heart. “You’ve been shot. It doesn’t look that bad.”

“It’s not,” relief is evident in Gladio’s voice. “I mean it’s not _great_ , but if you’re gonna get your leg broken, this is one of the better ways to do it. Clean fracture, no debris, bullet went straight through. Nothing a potion or two won’t cure once I set it.”

“Excellent,” Ignis says, feigning confidence he does not have. It is good news, but he also knows what’s coming.

“Here,” that’s Prompto shoving something between his teeth. If Ignis had to guess, it’s probably the bandana he wears to cover the port on his arm. Ignis obligingly opens his mouth and bites down on the twist of fabric.

“Okay. Prom, Ravus, make sure he doesn’t move. Iris, hold his other leg there. Princess, get a potion or a spell or whatever ready.”

Gladio takes a deep breath. “Okay, Iggy?”

Ignis takes the bandana out of his mouth long enough to snap: “Just bloody do it!”

Gladio waits until he’s put it back between his teeth. “Okay. Three, two, one…”

The bandana falls from Ignis’ mouth as he inhales in a silent scream. The pain is brilliant, exquisite in its sharpness. It arcs up his spine to his brain, shorting out all other senses. He’s digging his nails into Ravus’ arms as if he’s the only thing keeping him fixed on the whirling planet that is Eos. Seconds, eons later, the warm wash of healing magic dulls the agony. He can feel himself trembling in Ravus’ grip. A gentle hand pets his hair.

“You’re okay, Iggy, you’re okay,” Prompto tells him, voice low and soothing. “It’s alright. You’re okay.”

Ignis tries to collect himself, to calm his labored breathing, to surface from the dizzying wash of endorphins.

“That looks good,” Gladio says approvingly. “Skin’s healed up, not even much of a mark left. You’re gonna feel it later, though.”

“I feel it _now_ ,” Ignis gasps. His stomach tries to follow the words up his throat and he chokes it back, determined not to vomit on anyone.

“Whoa, easy, just relax.” Gladio’s big hand gently pushes him back, forcing him to recline against Ravus. Ignis lets his head tilt back against the larger man’s shoulder and tries to do as instructed.

“He can’t walk on that,” Luna says, worried.

“No, he can’t,” Gladio agrees. “Find me something to splint it with. If he’s got something to support it, it shouldn’t crack the minute he puts weight on it.”

“We...we’ve still got the wheelchair,” Prompto offers, voice small and hesitant. “And the crutches.”

Ignis had thought having his leg set had hurt. This is a hundred times worse. It completely undermines his attempts at calm, steady breathing. His next breath comes out more of a noiseless sob. Ravus leans his cheek against Ignis’ head, turns enough so that his lips are pressed against Ignis’ hair. That actually makes it harder.

Gladio gives a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Okay. Only problem with that is all these damn stairs. Don’t you guys believe in elevators?”

“Yes,” Ravus says somewhat testily. “Though I doubt there are any still in service.”

“I’m fine,” Ignis protests. They all ignore him.

“Where are we?” Iris asks.

“In one of the administration buildings,” Luna says. “The manor proper is probably a wreck, but it looks like everything else is more or less intact.”

“Where is everyone?” Prompto asks.

“Likely underground,” Ravus says. “There are numerous caverns below the city streets. I should imagine everyone found it safer not to venture out where they were under immediate surveillance.”

“Where would they keep the control panel?” Gladio wonders. “The barracks or the communications bunker?”

“If we could catch a live MT, we could ask him,” Prompto suggests.

There is a pause in which Ignis can only assume that everyone is exchanging bemused looks.

Ravus shrugs. “I suppose it’s worth a try.” 

There’s a feeling like someone brushing past, just barely touching him, that tells Ignis someone has reached into the armiger. Some irrational, pain-fogged part of his brain leaps at the prospect of it being Noctis. Perhaps he’s revived? Especially since Ignis can tell what’s been taken. But no, he hears the familiar sound of wheels hitting the broken tile of the floor. Strong arms lift him up and set him down again. Ignis keeps from breaking down by sheer force of will.

The wheelchair is too small for him. The back doesn’t come up nearly high enough, and the foot rests are entirely too short. Gladio fiddles with the chair, pulling everything out as far as it will go. It’s a little better, but still not perfect. It will have to do. Ignis sits silent and miserable as someone- he assumes it’s Ravus, he can hear the soft clatter of his sword belt as he walks- comes up to push him. There will be MT’s a plenty beating down the door at any moment. They need to move.

It’s slow going with the uneven floor. Every bead of gravel feels like a boulder, every missing tile an enormous pothole. Ravus informs him that there are inert MTs littering the floor. Given their previous experiences with KOed MTs, Ignis can understand the need for the rather circuitous path they’re taking. There’s a shriek from somewhere behind them.

“ _AHHH!! GET IT OFF!_ ” Iris screams.

“I gotcha, Sis!” Gladio charges past. There’s a clatter and a brief electric buzz followed by Prompto’s usual narration.

“Hey, just calm down there, bro. It’s okay. Aaaaaand...there ya go. How’s that. Feel better?”

“Yez…”

“Oh hey, you’re pretty quick! What’s your name? Can I see? B0695KH12685. Bob. How’s that sound? You like it?”

“Yez.”

“Okay, Bob. We need to know where you’re receiving orders from. Do you know where the command center is?”

“Yez, sir.”

“Take us there.”

“Yez, sir.”

All newly liberated MTs sound more than a little electronic. Bob, however, seems a bit quicker on the uptake than Chris and his brothers. Perhaps he hasn’t been at this as long? Bob puts his helmet back on and leads them to their destination. This involves so many endless corridors and twists and turns- not to mention more stairs- that Ignis soon loses any sense of direction. Prompto, however, seems pleased.

“I’ve cut the transmission from Niflheim and modified the MT protocols,” Prompto announces. “They’re to return to barracks and await further instructions. I’ve also had them discard their weapons. They’re under strict orders not to engage anyone. I figure we can cut them loose once we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“Excellent Prompto, thank you.” Luna turns to face the rest of them. Ignis catches the flick of her ponytail, the flutter of her scarf.

“There is no need for all of us to return to the Keep. Some of us should stay here to organize the freed MTs as well as the citizens. Also, if we are successful, we should declare our victory from here.

“Prompto will go to the Keep. He must. He’s the only one who can unlock the doors and reprogram the MT’s en mass. Gladio, Iris, you go with him.”

“Wait what?” That’s Gladio.

“Awright!” Iris crows.

“No! Not on your life! It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m not helpless, Gladi! Oh my gosh, I’m not a baby anymore!”

“Enough!” Luna cuts in. “Iris will accompany you.” Her tone forbids argument. Gladio growls, obviously unhappy, but that is all.

“Ravus and Ignis will stay here with me.”

“Princess!” The word has left his mouth before he can stop it.

“You will remain here with Ravus and myself,” Luna says again, her tone softened somewhat but still forbidding protest. “I will need your expertise.”

It’s what she isn’t saying that makes him bristle. Even without a broken leg, he would only be in the way, a liability. It was bad enough they had to watch his back the first time. This is a mission requiring stealth and speed and right now, he has neither. Grudgingly, he bows his head in acceptance.

“Of course, your Majesty.”

\--

“You know, she wasn’t singling you out to be a jerk,” Prompto tells him.

The sun has set, and it’s cold inside the ruins of Fenestella manor. Gladio’s made a fire in the fireplace from some of the splintered furniture, but the heat has not yet spread to the rest of the room.

“I know.”

“You need time, dude. Time to learn how to do this. We already know you can fight. That’s not the problem. We’ve been pushing you non-stop and you’ve kept up, but it’s not right to keep throwing stuff at you.”

“Isn’t it?” Ignis retorts. “It is my job. If I cannot keep up, what good am I?”

“Hey, no judgement,” Prompto says gently, stroking a hand down Ignis’ arm. The gesture softens him immediately. “You should have a chance to practice. To get good at this. Stay here and help Luna. A princess isn’t that different from a prince, right? It’s still serving royalty. You’ll be way more help to her than any of us could hope to be. She needs you.”

Ignis nods. He’s not convinced of how much help he’ll be, but he’s certainly the most organized of the group. Although it still feels as though he’s being intentionally left out, Ignis swallows back the prickly knot of his battered pride.

“Alright.”

\--

Ignis does not remember what Tenebrae looks like in person. It was so long ago that he has no concrete memories of the place. Yet Ravus and Luna grew up here. It must be both wonderful and terrible for them to return home, only to find it in ruins. What Insomnia looks like now, he can only imagine.

According to Prompto, the room they’re holed up in has a bed so wide that four of them could fit easily, plus a divan, a sofa, several arm chairs, and a thick, fluffy rug on the floor. There are dusty, but otherwise unspoilt pillows and blankets. Luna has claimed the divan, and is already delicately snoring. Iris is bundled up on the sofa paging through a book. Prompto and Gladio are trying to see what they can learn from Bob, who seems eager to please, but confused as to what they want. Ignis is content to sit near the fire and feel its heat; to let it light up the little sliver that is his last glimpse of the physical world.

There is a rustle of fabric and a slight clatter of metal as Ravus sits down nearby.

“It’s so strange. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before,” he remarks. “This is just one of dozens of guest rooms.”

Ignis nods. “I was born in Tenebrae, yet I have almost no memory of it.”

“Did you live here in Fenestella?” Ravus asks.

“I did. Well, until I was about five, anyway.”

“What brought you to Insomnia?”

“My father was a diplomat,” Ignis explains. “As things grew more tense with the Empire, he thought we might be safer in Lucis. Turns out it might have been wiser to stay.”

“So you always knew you would go into service?”

Ignis nods. “Oh yes. It was an honor to be chosen; a great privilege.”

“If I may ask, where are they now?”

“My parents? Gone. Killed in the Raid.”

There is only one Raid. It is the one that robbed Ravus and Lunafreya of their mother and made Tenebrae an unwilling vassal of Niflheim. Ravus sits silent and awkward beside him. After a moment, he drapes his arm over Ignis’ shoulders. Ignis does not reply, just reaches and touches his hand. No words have been spoken, but they understand one another just the same.

Gladio banks the fire before shooing them to bed. Prompto and Bob are already passed out on the carpet. Not to be outdone, Gladio is also sleeping on the floor. It’s no secret he doesn’t entirely trust Bob. Ravus and Ignis get the enormous bed. It feels cold and empty and too big after sleeping cheek by jowl so often. Ravus edges closer to him with no other explanation than:

“It’s cold.”

“It is,” Ignis agrees, and makes no effort to move away.


	5. Blunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis cannot catch a break.

Pain awakens Ignis at some ungodly hour. It’s still dark out, unless someone’s drawn the heavy curtains- which is entirely possible. He’s thirsty, starving, and he needs to use the restroom. He tries to get up, but doesn’t get very far. Only his leg has been broken, but apparently the rest of his body is feeling neglected and has decided to pitch a fit as well. He isn’t quick enough to bite back a cry.

“Ignis?” Ravus’ arm unfurls to surround him like a cloak. Ignis turns into him as much as he can.

“It’s too early,” Ignis groans, wondering if this is what mornings felt like for Noctis.

“How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better,” Ignis admits. “Is there a bathroom attached to the suite?”

“Yes. Do you need help?”

Ignis feels his face flush. “Just point me in the right direction.”

“Alright. Up you get.” Ravus levers him upright. Ignis has to pause on the edge of the bed to get his bearings. Magical healing always leaves him feeling lightheaded. Ravus still has one hand on his shoulder.

“Stand, turn right, and then perhaps thirty paces straight ahead is the door. The threshold is a little higher than the floor. Sink and toilet on the left, tub and shower on the right.”

“Thank you,” Ignis grunts, and calls Noctis’ crutches into his hands. They’re a better fit than the wheelchair, and allow him to pretend he still has some autonomy left. Holding his leg up off the floor, however, is agony. He stumps awkwardly in the direction Ravus indicated, swinging his head as if trying to shake his bangs out of his eyes in order to catch the outline of the doorway. It’s more like forty paces to him, but he’s got shorter legs and is moving slow. Despite being warned about the threshold, one of the crutches catches and he over balances. Rather than try to juggle the crutches, Ignis hurls them back into the armiger and just focuses on breaking his fall.

The fact that each floor tile probably costs a year’s wages does not make them any softer. The impact jars his wrists and elbows painfully. He doesn’t quite suppress a yelp as his injured leg hits the floor. Evidently the toilet paper is loaded onto a little freestanding dispenser. It falls over and strikes him on the head. Perhaps feeling left out, the soap tumbles off the counter and bounces off his shoulder. The soap dish follows a moment later. Ignis sighs and just lies there for a moment, waiting to see if the ceiling will descend to put him out of his misery.

“Ignis!”

“Iggy!”

“Six, dude! Are you okay?”

That’s Ravus, Gladio, and Prompto each rushing over to try to help him up. Ignis shoves their eager hands away.

“Give over, I’m _fine!_ ” he insists. “Astrals above, can’t a man have some privacy?”

“You tripped,” Prompto says in wounded protest.

“I am aware,” Ignis responds tartly. Everything hurts and he just wants to take care of business and go back to bed.

“Sorry…”

Ignis struggles against the strong arms that lift him before deciding he doesn’t have the energy to fight. It’s Gladio. Both hands are big and warm.

“Thank you,” Ignis says, struggling for courtesy. He knows he’s behaving abominably, but he can’t make himself stop. “Now if you will excuse me.”

He shuts the door on them and waits until their footsteps retreat. The bedsprings creak as Ravus sits down again. Ignis almost breaks his leg a second time tripping over the thrice-damned toilet paper dispenser. It also takes him a moment of groping on hands and knees to locate the soap and soap dish. The soap had bounced into the tub, so at least he might have been spared slipping on it like something out of a cartoon.

This time, he’s prepared for the damned threshold, and takes an extra-long step with the crutches to avoid it entirely. The lurching stride allows him brief snapshots of the darkened room. Presumably the ladies decided the men had things under control and have not gotten up. Gladio’s fussing with the fire. He can hear Prompto reassuring Bob that everything’s alright.

“Maintenance?” Bob asks.

“Nah, dude, he just needs time to rest. You know rest?”

“Stasis?”

“Yeah, sure. Something like that.”

Despite himself, Ignis swallows back a snort. Ravus scoots over and turns the bedclothes back. Ignis flicks the crutches away and lays down again. The ghost of his own warmth lingers between the sheets, and Ignis does his best to align himself with the imprint. He feels slightly better. He’s still tired, Ravus is warm, and before long, he’s asleep.

\--

If anything, Ignis feels worse upon waking a second time. He groans and tries to turn away from the sunlight streaming in through the windows and the remaining crack in his vision, but that means moving his leg. A red-hot surge of pain spikes up his leg and into his brain. He’s more successful in biting back a curse, but only marginally. Ignis prepares for many hands to descend to tend to him, but none are forthcoming. More carefully, he sits up. Someone else moves.

“Hello? Prompto? Gladio?”

“B0695KH12685 reporting, sir.” The movement is quick, but Ignis just catches the salute.

“Oh, hello Bob. Where are the others?”

Bob’s outline wavers as he struggles for vocabulary.

“That’s quite alright,” Ignis assures him. “At ease.”

“S-s-sustenance,” Bob manages after a moment.

They must have gone to see if there was anything to eat besides their own rations. “Oh, I see. Thank you.”

“Sustenance,” Bob insists. Ignis feels something set on his lap. It’s a plate and a sandwich.

“Ah, thank you.”

“Sir.”

Bob continues to stand there. Ignis can’t see him, but he can feel Bob’s eyes on him.

“You may sit down if you like.”

“Sir.”

Bob plops down on the sofa and does not move. Ignis finishes his sandwich and sets the plate aside. In the process, he knocks something off the bedside table.

“Bother…”

“Tactical eye device,” Bob says, pressing something into Ignis’ hands. It’s his sunglasses. They must have been what hit the floor. Ignis can’t help but smile a little.

“TEDs, is it?”

Bob does not respond except to cock his head, confused.

“It’s an acronym. You take only the first letter of each word to spell out something different. ‘TED’. In this case, it’s humorous because ‘Ted’ has other meanings,” Ignis explains. “For instance, ‘Ted’ can be a person’s name. It is also refers to a type of plush toy.”

“Ted,” Bob pokes Ignis lightly in the shoulder.

A laugh escapes. “Well, my name is ‘Ignis’, but you may call me ‘Ted’ if you like.”

The suggestion is met with a shy little giggle.

“Yes, alright. Help me get my things together, will you?”

Bob salutes again. “Sir.”

\--

Bob missed his calling. He makes a remarkably able valet. Perhaps he’ll go into service when things have calmed down? It would provide structure like unto a military life, yet would be a significantly gentler environment. Ignis makes a mental note to suggest it to the others. Speaking of which, they should really go and see what’s become of them.

“Can you take me to the others?”

“Sir.”

Ignis has Noctis’ crutches at the ready, but Bob makes no move.

“Lead on.”

“Sir…”

“What is it?”

“Support structure.”

“Beg pardon?”

Bob reaches and taps one of the crutches. Mentally, Ignis grumbles. They must have given Bob orders to use the wheelchair only.

“Oh alright, if it will make you happy.”

“Sir.” The word is a literal sigh of relief.

Ignis seats himself and Bob steps behind him to push. Every imperfection in the floor is still horribly obvious, but not quite the exercise in torture it was yesterday. It seems everyone has congregated a few doors down. The slightly musty scent of leather and paper makes Ignis perk up. There are books here. Perhaps a library?

“Ah, there you are,” Luna voice floats across the room. “Feeling better, I hope?”

“Yes, thank you, your Majesty.” The room seems echoey and silent. “Where is everyone?”

“Over here,” Ravus calls from somewhere distantly to Ignis’ left.

“I’m afraid they left at first light,” Luna explains. “The sooner the MT’s uplink is disabled, the sooner they can return.”

Ignis nods mechanically. Gone already, without even a chance to say goodbye. But they’ll be back. They will.

They must.


	6. Suite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which details are sorted out.

There are a couple of minor yet deeply important details to take care of that no one has had a chance to see to until now. With grim acceptance, Ignis cuts the tip off of each finger of his gloves. His hands are his eyes now, and it’s pointless to cover them. Luna helps him reprogram his phone to respond to voice commands, and to recite what’s on the screen. It takes some getting used to, but Ignis is glad to have this much restored to him. 

Luna has decreed that he is not to try to put any weight on his leg for at least three days. After that, she will examine him and decide if he needs further time to recover. Ignis gets the feeling her eventual answer will be double-edged. Only Prompto has dared to say it to his face: Ignis has been left behind so he can learn, so he can get good at being blind because if he’s honest, right now he sucks at it.

This is his life now. His vision is not coming back; Luna has proved this. Her healing magic did almost nothing. Therefore, he must learn to function as he is. This means learning to read and to type again, as well as the much harder lesson of learning to accept help. He wonders then, if Bob was everyone’s way of sparing his pride while still providing him a much-needed second pair of hands? It’s a humbling thought.

There are more survivors in Tenebrae than previously thought, and they flock to their restored monarchs like frightened children to their parents. Upon further exploration, the city proper and much of the outlying suburbs are actually fine. It’s only the manor that has borne the brunt of the invasion. The royal rooms are a wreck, but the rest of it was left intact and used by the Empire.

Those in the country are experiencing problems with daemons. The MT threat had been mostly confined to the city, and is comparatively recent. With Bob and his brothers restored to their senses and put on daemon patrol, things calm considerably. Stores reopen and trade begins to flow again, if slowly. 

Gladio, Prompto, and Iris check in periodically. Ignis’ phone reads off their texts in a voice that reminds him of the MT’s stunted attempts at speech. They’re fine, making good progress. The MT’s aren’t the issue they once were, but the daemons have multiplied at an alarming rate.

“Do we need to worry about them migrating south?” Ravus wonders. It’s something they’re all worried about.

“Eventually,” Luna sighs. “Unless Noctis returns soon, there is only so much I can do to keep the Darkness at bay.”

“Could they move the Crystal here?” Ignis suggests. The object is likely to be bulky and heavy, but it wouldn’t be that difficult to commandeer a drop ship, or one of the mechanized armored units to move it to a safer location.

There’s a rapid tapping sound as Luna types a reply. “They’ll look into it. They haven’t gotten as far as all that.”

In the meantime, Ignis applies himself. He does his best to learn, to adjust, to adapt. Luna deems him fit to leave the wheelchair after three days. He allows her to pray over him a second time, and aside from being touched by her concern, the gesture accomplishes nothing.

Bob or Ravus accompany Ignis until he can find his way around the manor on his own. It doesn’t help that parts of it are destroyed. Ignis had expected a certain amount of looting, but aside from the initial damage, most of the building seems untouched.

“I confess I don’t know what happened after we left,” Ravus says, pulling Ignis along one of the winding corridors. It’s been cleared of debris, so there is no longer a risk of tripping over anything. “I couldn’t decide if the Imperials would have burned the whole thing to the ground, or repurposed the usable parts for their own designs.”

“It would appear they chose the latter,” Ignis muses. Ravus veers left and up a flight of stairs. They haven’t been in this part of the manor before, at least he doesn’t think so. It’s colder here, a faint draft pulling at his hair. There’s also a faint outdoors sort of smell. Perhaps the enormous windows have been broken?

Ravus’ steps slow to a halt.

“This used to be my room.”

“Highness…” Ignis breathes. “Shall I wait out here?”

Ravus shakes his head. “I don’t expect it will matter.”

Ravus pushes open the door and they both stand there for a moment. Ignis can’t see what the room looks like, but he can imagine. Beneath his fingers, Ravus’ arm tenses.

“How bad?” Ignis whispers.

“They must have been looking for the ring,” Ravus mutters. “Every drawer upturned, clothing everywhere, trinkets strewn about…”

Ravus steps away. There’s a shuffling noise as he presumably roots through the rubble.

“I’m sure they would not have listened even if told the ring was not here.”

“Is it all destroyed?”

There’s a flicker of motion as Ravus shakes his head. “Well, the mattress has been slit and the contents scattered. Some of my old toys have met the same fate, the brave little soldiers. They’ve made a right mess of my bookshelf, but most of the books seem to have survived. Anything of possible value is no doubt gone. I might be able to salvage a few things but otherwise…”

Ignis just catches the ghost of a shrug.

“Luna and I left everything behind when our mother sent us away for our own safety. She knew this day would come. She did what she had to in order to protect us.”

Ignis softly crunches through the debris to lay a hand on the prince’s shoulder. Ravus pats it absently.

“Come. There’s nothing else to be done here.”

Ravus closes the door behind them and turns to retrace their steps. There’s a shout and a thud somewhere off to their right. Ravus whips around, sword in hand.

“Luna!”

He darts down the hall, leaving Ignis to squint after the fading afterimage of the running prince. He stumbles after him, stick in hand, praying he won’t break an ankle on anything.

“Why you mangy little devils!” That’s Ravus, but the words end in laughter. The reason becomes clear as happy little yaps meet Ignis’ ears. There’s two sets of rapid motion that takes him a minute to parse: the mad wagging of a dog’s tail. Umbra and Pryna have returned.

“Oh you naughty things,” Luna says, the words half-sobbed. “I was so worried!”

“Rascals,” Ravus says fondly, kneeling to pet their soft fur. “Where have you been all this time?”

Of course the dogs do not answer, just caper and bark and wag their tails in joy. One of them comes over and paws Ignis’ leg. He obligingly kneels down to pet it.

“Now, which one are you?”

“That’s Umbra,” Luna says. “He probably remembers you.”

“He might,” Ignis agrees.

“What were you doing up here?” Ravus wants to know.

“I went to check my old room as well as mother’s…” Luna trails off, her voice catching. Ravus moves to put an arm around her.

“Was there anything left?”

Luna shakes her head. “No. I didn’t expect to find any jewelry or gowns, but I was hoping for...something. I did find them, however.” She means the dogs. There’s a smile in her tone, and Ignis thinks that having her pets back might be a greater reward than any ancestral trinket.

“What were you looking for?”

“It will sound silly, but I thought perhaps I could find my Oracle’s robes, or maybe mother’s; a white dress at the very least.”

Ignis has no idea what the princess has been wearing except that it involves trousers and blouses and usually a scarf instead of skirts. Iris’ wardrobe is much the same.

“I’m sure we can find something,” Ignis says. He will make it his personal mission to do just that.

\--

It doesn’t make sense for the three of them to go on sharing a single guest room. However, it seems the Nox Fleurets don’t want to be too far apart from each other. They move to a set of rooms that bear the marks of previous occupation. There are abandoned personal items with a decidedly Imperial slant to them throughout. Ravus gathers them up and drops them off the balcony.

There are three bedrooms, each with their own on suite bath, that adjoin a shared living space. Each bedroom hosts a single enormous bed. There are sofas and divans and arm chairs clustered around a fireplace that’s nearly tall enough to stand up inside.

“This is the old foreign secretary’s suite,” Ravus explains. “I suppose that’s why it was in use until...whenever.”

It’s still a mystery as to when and why Niflheim vacated Tenebrae. So far, they’ve found no commanding officers, and all functioning MT’s have been either liberated, or reprogrammed. It’s puzzling to say the least.

Ignis is about to ask Bob to show him to one of the neighboring suites when Luna speaks up:

“You’ll stay with us, won’t you?”

Ignis blinks in her general direction. “My Lady?”

“Your friends would never forgive us, and I’d prefer to have you nearby. Please. Stay.”

Well he can’t very well argue with that, can he? It’s not as if they haven’t been wedging themselves into much closer quarters for the last few months. Ignis allows that it might be unusual, but is in no way improper.

“Very well, your Majesty.”


	7. Impatient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Luna, Ravus, and Ignis hold down the fort.

Ignis has never thought of himself as impatient. That’s usually Gladio, occasionally Prompto. Ignis is the one reminding everyone of the time, of how many minutes are left, and when they ought to get their shoes on and their belongings together. He likes to think that he can wait, that he is not possessed of a quick temper. Perhaps that is untrue. Perhaps he’s only become so adept at scheduling himself, everyone, and everything around him that he’s been mistaking patience of organization. Because right now, he wants to hurl something across the room in frustration.

He had been a lightning reader, able to scan a document in seconds rather than minutes. Ignis had been able to type at a dizzying speed as well. Now...the little raised dots are as indecipherable as the runes on the tomb walls of the ancient kings. He supposes it’s better than nothing, but Astrals above, it is laboriously slow. Rather, _he_ is laboriously slow. Ignis is certain he could memorize the position of the dots if only he could see them- which would of course negate the necessity of learning to read by touch in the first place. He should be picking this up faster. He doesn’t have time to puzzle this out bit by bit, he needs to know how to do this _now_.

His other primary duty, as well as pleasure, is proving a bit of a challenge as well. It isn’t that Ignis does not trust himself to slice vegetables without slicing his fingers as well. He knows his own movements in the kitchen well enough to perform them blindfolded. Indeed, he’s done so once on a dare from Gladio. He knows how to tell without looking if fresh fruit and vegetables are unripe, perfect, or spoiled. That is not the issue. The issue is that he can’t read the damn labels anymore.

Why in Bahamut’s name must all spice containers come in identical little bottles? He tries uncapping and smelling them and that works for the most part. Those that are either unidentifiable, or do not smell of anything, he simply throws away. It is unlikely they are any good if his nose can not tell him what is inside.

Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief to discover how much he _doesn’t_ need his eyes in the kitchen. Ignis had not realized that he had already learned how to tell the temperature of hot oil or boiling water by sound alone. The hot metal smell of a pan on the burner, of a half-roasted joint, the many ways to test if something is ready or not without looking at it is also something he’s evidently internalized. He might not be able to see the digits on the oven dials, but he knows how far to turn his wrist for a certain level of heat. Of course he can not be sure of the presentation, but Ignis feels heartened knowing he can still put together a delicious meal.

Ravus and Luna seem surprised upon having a hot lunch ready for them. It isn’t anything fancy. Soup is difficult to ruin, does not call for exotic ingredients, and requires only to be ladled into a bowl. Ignis can’t help smiling, perhaps more proud of himself than he ought to be. Since he’s no good for paperwork right now, it seems the least he can do.

\--

Lunafreya bears the bulk of the responsibilities. Rather, hers is the most physically exhausting task. Her people are overjoyed that she is alive and whole, but so many of them are cursed with starscourge. It seems from the moment she rises until her head hits the pillow at night, she is laying hands on someone to heal them of their illness. Even without sight, Ignis can tell it’s taking its toll on her.

“This isn’t something you can do?” Ignis inquires of Ravus. The larger man shakes his head miserably.

“Would that I could. It is my fondest wish to lighten her burdens, but I am no Oracle. I am afraid in these matters, I am useless.”

“But you can use magic,” Ignis presses. “That battle with Chris and his brothers. Luna said something about the blessing of Ramuh.”

The curl of Ravus’ shoulders make his cringe just visible. “A fluke. Mere chance.”

“Are you sure? That wasn’t you borrowing Luna’s magic, that was your own.”

Ravus turns fully toward him, coat tails swirling. “How would you know?” He seems genuinely curious.

“The Kings of Lucis draw their power from the Crystal. The Oracles of Tenebrae receive their strength from the Astrals. Luna went on fighting as if nothing had happened. Surely if you had drawn on her resources, she would have felt it.”

Ravus is quiet for a long moment. “It flies in the face of all I have been told my whole life. Men cannot be Oracles. They exist to defend the weak, to protect their homes and loved ones, to add to the family line. More than that…” He shrugs helplessly. “There has never been a Prince of Tenebrae before myself.”

There have been male children aplenty born to the Nox Fleuret family, but none of them have ever been recognized as royalty. Nobility, certainly, but not royal. Tenebrae is ruled by women, and as such, only the daughters of the Oracle are granted the exalted title of ‘Royal Highness’.

Ignis- being a small child himself at the time- recalls dimly the stir it had caused. Perhaps Queen Sylva had been forewarned by the Astrals as to what trials lay ahead, and thus bestowed the honor upon her son rather than quietly packing him off to grow up to be a chancellor, or captain of the guard. Despite Ravus being well over twenty, his status as First Son of Tenebrae is still something people whisper about with awe, with wonder, and no small measure of confusion.

Ignis nods thoughtfully. “Indeed.”

Ravus may not be eligible to become Oracle, but he comes from a family that carries magic in its blood. Perhaps because of his gender, it has not occurred to anyone that Ravus- or any of the Nox Fleuret sons- might be capable of using magic. The aptitude may well be there; simply untrained and untapped. It’s a possibility that bears further investigation.

\--

With Lunafreya thus engaged, most of the logistics fall to Ravus and Ignis. Ravus, by necessity, deals with anything written. Ignis helps out where he can, mostly running interference and making sure the Nox Fleurets eat and rest. It feels like weeks- but is actually days- later when Gladio and the others finally check in again.

“We’re okay,” Prompto says immediately after ‘hello’. “We’ve got deamons coming out of the woodwork, but we’re fine.” As if to prove this, Iris and Gladio’s voices call out their own greetings. Ignis releases a breath he had not realized he’d been holding.

“Excellent,” Ignis tells them. “I’m glad you’re all alright.”

“How did you fare with the MTs?” Luna wants to know.

“Killed the uplink and smashed the computer for good measure.” There is grim satisfaction in Prompto’s voice. “Some of ‘em we couldn’t save, but most of ‘em are okay now. A little confused, but okay.”

“How many are we talking?”

There is awkward shifting somewhere at the other end of the phone. “I um...haven’t taken a head count yet.”

Oh dear.

“Hundreds?” Ignis guesses. “Thousands?”

The silence at the other end stretches, peppered only by fervent, indistinct conversation between Prompto and the Amicitia siblings.

“ _Prompto._ ”

“I don’t know! Probably...probably the first one. Hundreds.”

“What in Odin’s name are we going to do with several hundred MTs?” Ravus asks.

“We can’t leave them here!” Prompto all but wails. Luna snatches the phone from Ignis.

“It’s fine,” she assures him. “What of Noctis and the Crystal?”

“Yeah we got good news and bad news on that one,” Gladio’s voice rumbles through the speaker.

“What do you mean?” Luna’s voice is tense.

“The Crystal’s still here, but the hole is gone. It just...looks like a giant hunk of rock right now. It’s… It’s sealed him in.”

Ignis blinks. Sealed him in? Is Noctis to hatch from the crystal like a chocobo from an egg? They had thought weeks, perhaps months, and he would return to them. Now…

A strong hand latches onto his arm, pulling him upward. It takes Ignis a moment to realize he’s been maneuvered into a chair. No, the sofa. Luna’s hand has found his and is clutching it hard, their joined hands resting on the cushions. She must be sitting next to him.

“Can you move it?” Ravus asks, having commandeered the phone.

“I tried, but it didn’t do shit. Damn thing is stuck in place even without the chains.” Gladio sounds as if he’s taken the failure personally. “We’re gonna have to leave it for now and focus on getting the MTs out of here.”

“Do what you must.” That’s Luna’s Queen Voice, but the trembling in her hand belies her confidence. She is frightened for Noctis, as they all are.

“Alright, we’ll call ahead once we figure out what we’re doing. Over and out.”

And that’s it. Ignis feels as if he’s slowly sinking into his body again. Ravus takes his free hand. He can only assume Ravus has also taken Luna’s.

“We’ll get him back,” he promises.

Ignis shakes off his trance first. “Yes. We will.”

Finding his feet, he stands. It only takes a moment for him to check his balance and summon the walking stick. “Right. I’d best make preparations for the new MTs. You’ll have quite the army at your disposal, your Majesty.”

“Yes,” Luna says, finally coming to herself. “Once the others return we’ll have more hands to help them acclimate.”

“With your permission?” Ignis inclines his head in what he hopes is Lunafreya’s direction.

“Yes. Yes of course.”

Ignis sees himself out. Bob is waiting at the door; his salute at Ignis’ approach gives him away.

“Come along, Bob. We’ve a family reunion to prepare for.”

“Yes, sir.”

\--

It’s quiet after the work day has concluded. Ravus has taken to reading aloud in the evenings since the television or radio are too distressing. It’s soothing in a way that cannot be explained in words, but hearkens back to bedtimes long forgotten, when one’s greatest fear was the shadow horror that lurked in the closet, or beneath the bed. They’ve been working through a volume of poems. Ravus has a true gift for it. Not just anyone can read aloud without sounding like the automated voice on Ignis’ phone. If he weren’t a prince, Ravus might have had a promising career as an actor, or news anchor.

Tonight, however, no one can concentrate. Ravus shuts the book with a soft thump and a sigh. Ignis looks up, having only noticed that the music of Ravus’ words has come to a stop.

“She’s asleep,” he says softly.

“Tend to her,” Ignis says. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying as much attention as I ought.”

“That’s alright. I was hoping you hadn’t noticed me having to start the same stanza over three times.”

Ignis smiles. “I hadn’t, no.”

“There you are, then.”

Ignis squints and strains to follow the outline of Ravus’ swinging arms and heavy gait as he crosses the floor to gather his sister in his arms. Luna is tall, but feather light, and he lifts her with seemingly no effort at all. Ignis watches as Ravus retreats through the far door to tuck her in. Ignis decides he might as well turn in himself. They all have a long day ahead of them.

\--

It’s been a while since Ignis’ last nightmare. Perhaps in order to make up for this, his dreams are particularly violent. His arm and face burn with holy fire; divine agony, while all around him daemons swarm. From somewhere beyond, Ardyn’s laughter mocks him. Ignis tries to summon his knives, his spear, but Noctis is gone and with him the armiger. Ignis screams as fangs sink into his flesh and his skin ignites.

“Ignis!”

Strong hands seize his shoulders. Ignis reaches for a weapon and nearly weeps with relief as his fingers finally close around the familiar hilts of his daggers.

“ _Six!_ ”

He slashes with all his strength and the weight pressing on him is abruptly gone. He clashes blades once, twice, three times, before he’s thrown onto his back. He gasps, wind knocked out of him and stars dancing before his sightless eyes. The daggers evaporate and the weight descends upon him once more.

“Ignis!”

He can only kick and claw, try to scratch and bite his way free, but it grabs his wrists and pins them above his head. It’s sitting on his stomach, making it difficult to breath.

“ _IGNIS!_ It’s Ravus! _RAVUS._ ”

The dream finally bursts. There’s a sliver of grayish light off to one side. Someone’s turned the lights on. Gods, where is he that there are lights? It takes him a solid minute to reorient: Tenebrae, Fenestella manor, a suite of rooms with Ravus and Luna within shouting distance.

“Ravus…” The word comes out small and shaky. Ravus carefully pulls him upright and into his arms. Ignis clings to him, a living, breathing thing, hoping the proximity to Ravus’ beating heart will calm his own.

“You were screaming,” Ravus says, voice soft and deep as the darkened room. “I thought…”

He does not elaborate, just pulls Ignis closer and rubs a hand over his back. Ignis curls in close, tucking his head beneath Ravus’ chin, as he did when Ravus had only one arm.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis manages at length. “You have Luna to care for. I should not add to your burdens.”

“It is no burden,” Ravus says, kissing his hair. This too is familiar. Ravus has done it on instinct so many times that he’s forgotten to be embarrassed- not that he needs to be. Under previous circumstances, Ravus might hold him until Ignis falls asleep. But they are back in civilization, and not crammed in a tent, or parceled out in a motel room. There are properties to be observed, and Ignis cannot think of a way to ask Ravus to stay that will not come out wrong.

He’s a grown man. It was only a dream. He is not a child who must crawl into bed with his parents to feel safe enough to sleep. Ignis cannot ask it of him, but Ravus sitting him on the edge of the bed, his warmth slowly pulling away, is almost worse than the nightmare.

“Will you be alright?”

“Yes. I’ll be fine,” Ignis answers mechanically.

“Good night, then,” Ravus says. Ignis feels a hand behind his head, the faintest touch to his forehead, and then Ravus has dropped his hand, the door clicking shut behind him.

Ignis touches his forehead, wondering. He does not go back to sleep for a long time.


	8. Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ravus makes a startling discovery.

Ravus does not sleep either. He lies awake, replaying the last few seconds. That had not been the innocent gesture brought out by distress and habit. That had been… That had been… He feels his face burn and denies himself the right to think the word. _Inappropriate_ is what it had been. He spends the rest of the night cursing and chastising himself for his weakness. In the morning, he splashes water on his face, dresses, and prepares to begin the day as if nothing had happened. With any luck, Ignis will either dismiss and excuse what he’s done as a variation on a theme, or forget it entirely. Most of Ravus hopes it’s that last one. He has no idea if Ignis harbors any romantic inclinations in general, much less toward him.

Ravus’ whole body shuts down at that revelation, causing Lunafreya to plow into him.

“Oh!”

“Sorry.”

“What on Eos?”

Ravus is powerless to stop the heat rising into his face, and he sinks down onto the sofa to hide his face in his hands.

“Ravus?” Luna perches on the cushion next to him. “Dearest, what is it?”

“I’ve...done something,” he stammers. “Something I should not have.”

Luna is looking slightly alarmed. “What? Please, tell me.”

“I kissed Ignis.”

There is a stunned silence as Luna blinks blankly at him. “I’m sorry, you what?”

“Like this.” Ravus cradles the back of her head in one hand and demonstrates, just brushing his lips against her bangs. Luna stares for a moment longer. She brings a fist to her lips and clears her throat- mostly because she is struggling not to laugh.

“I hardly think that counts as a breach of etiquette. Didn’t you say he had another night terror?”

Ravus nods. “He did. I had to fight him until he fully awoke. Once he knew it was me, he melted.”

“Then what have you to be ashamed of? You’ve been a source of comfort to him since the day he lost his sight.”

“I pray he perceived it thus. It was not done in such a spirit, Astrals forgive me for my weakness.”

“Ravus.” Exasperation creeps into Luna’s tone. “You are being melodramatic. Are you saying you fancy him?”

Ravus flushes in utter mortification. “Yes.”

“And what in Shiva’s name is wrong with that?”

“I overstepped my role,” Ravus tries to explain. “He looks to me for solace, nothing more. How can I betray his trust like that? Ignis has suffered for the sake of his king. I will not betray his vulnerability and take advantage of a man still healing.”

Her unimpressed expression suggests that she thinks he is being an insufferable ninny.

“Have you told Ignis any of this?”

“Six, no! I pray he has forgotten it.”

Luna rolls her eyes. “You need to tell him. Either way, I’m certain Ignis will understand.”

Ravus looks unconvinced. “No. No, this need go no farther. It would only complicate matters.”

“How will it complicate things? You know full well I will not give you away just for the sake of a boarder. Love whom you will, with my free blessing. Did our own mother not choose our father from among her personal guards? This is no different.”

“I fancy him, Luna. I’ve no intention of proposing marriage just yet,” Ravus grumbles.

“Exactly. Just tell him. He’ll understand.”

“I can’t just waltz up to him, drop to one knee and declare my love!” Ravus snaps, temper finally flaring to life. “The man has been through hell! You ought to be berating me for indulging in such disgraceful sentiments, not encouraging me to go chasing my own foolish desires.”

Lunafreya arches an eyebrow at her brother. “Should I? It’s obvious you care for him. There is no shame in that. Perhaps Ignis might benefit from the additional attention? More love and care can only speed his recovery.”

“Luna, you are not helping,” Ravus groans. The revelation that he has become...fond...of one of Noctis’ retainers is like unto scraping one’s arm through fresh paint: startling, accidental, and not entirely welcome. It will complicate things needlessly. The Lucians are so close; Ravus would hate to ruin their bond by barging in where he most likely is not wanted.

“You’re dramatizing it,” Luna tells him patiently. “Don’t fret over something that’s not even happened yet. Tell him how you feel, write him a poem, kiss him properly this time! If he does not return your affections, at least you’ll know. Ignis doesn’t seem the type to bear ill will. I’m sure he will not think less of you in either case.”

Ravus does not look convinced of this. “I wish I had your confidence, sister. I fear his rejection too much to dare broach the subject.”

“Shall I do so for you?” she teases.

“Gods no! Please don’t.”

Luna bites back a giggle lest her brother think she is mocking his distress. “Very well, I won’t say a word, but only on the condition that you will.”

Ravus gives a defeated sigh. “Fair enough.”

\--

Prompto radios to let them know they’ll be returning with several hundred new MTs. They must be transported in drop ships, but they’ll have an escort. Apparently, the MTs are not the only part of the Niflheim army to turn rogue.

“Commodore Highwind,” Luna says, extending a hand. “Welcome. Thank you for lending your aid.”

The Commodore gives a short jerk of a nod, allowing Ignis to glimpse her height, but little more. She has perhaps an inch or two on Luna, though she could be wearing high heels. The ghosts of her movements do not give him that much information.

“It’s the least I could do, Princess.” Her tone is harsh, but civil. Ignis gets the impression she is long accustomed to giving orders, and to having those orders obeyed. At once.

“May I present my brother Ravus, and our chamberlain, Ignis Scientia.”

Ignis fights not to take a step back as the Commodore turns to him. “So you’re the ones who took on the Empire all by yourselves. Fought the Chancellor and a whole pack of armored units single-handed.”

Ignis automatically straightens his spine as far as it will go. He doesn’t need to see her eyes to know that they’re sweeping him from top to toe, searching for a loose thread or a single hair out of place. Ignis dares silently dares her to find one.

“You guys got guts. Good to meet you.” Her handshake is firm, bordering on painful.

“And you as well, Commodore.”

“Just ‘Aranea’ is fine. Not like I was ever formally part of the Nif army. They just paid well.”

“We cannot offer you what Niflheim paid you,” Luna begins, “but we are in desperate need--”

“Alright.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You want me to stay and help manage all the MTs you guys rescued, right? Sure, fine. I know how to work with them. You’re gonna need someone to keep them in line, and you’re all clearly up to your eyebrows as it is.”

Ignis cannot see Luna’s grin, but he can hear it. “Thank you. We would be most grateful.”

“Sure. No sweat.”

Unless his ears deceive him, he’s pretty sure the Commodore is smiling too.

\--

Aranea, her men, and the MTs are installed in the garrison barracks. Although Luna offers her a place in the manor, Aranea refuses. Gladio, Prompto, and Iris have no such reservations and move into a set of rooms just across the hall. The arrangement is the same: three bedrooms with associated baths, and a communal living area. They seem to think it a given that Ignis will relocate to stay with them. This means that what with the proprieties, Iris will get a room to herself and one of them will have to double up.

In his heart, Ignis dares entertain relief. Ravus has spoiled him atrociously, and sleeping alone has become a trial unto itself.

“I don’t mind,” Ignis shrugs, upon being asked if he’d rather share, or have his own suite.

“Well, Gladio’s huge and will take up all the bed space,” Iris reasons, “and Prompto’s an octopus, so take your pick.”

Ignis laughs.

It turns out upon closer inspection that the sofa in one of the rooms is actually a daybed. This solves the problem, though Ignis is annoyed with himself and the measure of disappointment it brings. Bahamut’s tail, what is _wrong_ with him? He claims the daybed as penance. Perhaps the smaller bed will feel less cold and empty.

It doesn’t. After having slept in a full, or queen-sized bed for most of his adult life, Ignis actually tumbles off the darned thing. The thud knocks his breath from him, but shatters the dream that had thrown him there.

“Ignis?” Prompto’s in the big bed by himself. Ignis can hear his rapid footsteps cross the carpet. “Geeze, Iggy. You okay?”

Ignis lets Prompto help him up; any excuse to be touched. Six, when did he get so clingy? It takes a minute or two of gasping before he can find his voice.

“Fine,” he wheezes. “I don’t even remember what I was dreaming about.”

It’s a lie and a bad one. Prompto can surely feel him shaking.

“You wanna stay with me for tonight? Bed’s kinda big for just me.”

“Alright,” Ignis says, and hates himself for it. But Prompto’s small body is alive and warm and better than nothing. They settle back-to-back, Prompto nodding off almost at once. Ignis waits until Prompto is deep, dead asleep before turning and draping an arm over him. It’s something, he tells himself. It’s something.


	9. Preventative Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ravus and Ignis come to an understanding.  
> Sort of.

With the Lucians back, it’s business as usual. Prompto and Gladio spend most of their time with the MTs. Iris comes on board to help Ravus and Ignis sort out the administrative end. She quickly gets the added duty of Luna’s lady-in-waiting. In a household that is almost entirely male, it is perhaps an unfair, yet necessary duty to assign her. Iris accepts it without batting an eye, and makes it her personal mission to see that Luna is fed and rested and presentable.

With the logistics of so many new people to deal with, they barely speak to each other outside of official duties. Everyone is exhausted by the end of the day. Ignis is secretly grateful to be too tired to dream. His own studies have seen some progress, but not nearly as much as he would like. Ignis speaks three languages fluently, could read and write in two more. Now he can barely grasp the rudiments of this new tactile alphabet. He wonders if it’s psychosomatic?

\--

Ravus is avoiding him. At first, Ignis had simply thought that their individual duties were taking them in opposite directions. Now, however, he’s beginning to wonder if it’s deliberate? Has he said or done something? Surely it couldn’t be over… Ignis swears he can feel his cheeks pink at the memory. But it had been done in innocence. Ravus can’t still be embarrassed about that, can he? Well, the only way to find out is to ask.

“Excuse me, your Highness,” Ignis calls out after Ravus’ retreating form. “May I have a word?”

“Later,” Ravus says without turning his head. Ignis quickens his pace and lays a hand on Ravu’s arm.

“I’m afraid it’s a matter of some urgency.”

Ravus finally slows to a stop. “What is it, then?”

“I’m sure it’s my imagination, but it feels as if you’ve been going out of your way to avoid me.”

“What? Nonsense.” But it isn’t. Ignis can feel the muscles of the prince’s arm tense under his fingers.

“Highness, if I have done something to offend, I would prefer to know. I would not like to go on making the same mistake again and again.”

“You’ve done nothing,” Ravus sighs. “Now if you will excuse me.”

Ravus jerks away and hurries down the corridor, leaving Ignis to stare after him in perplexity.

\--

Ignis cannot sleep in the daybed. He cannot sleep in the large beds either, not by himself. Recently, he’s taken to sneaking out to the library as soon as Prompto drifts off, the better to do battle with his sixth foreign language. If he’s lucky, it will knock him out and he’ll just have a stupid, recycled dream left over from his school days.

Ravus finds him like that, face down on one of the books, at some unholy hour between midnight and dawn.

“Ignis?” the word is soft, as is the hand on his arm. Ignis starts awake, panic sending him tumbling from his chair. He’s saved from cracking his head on the tile by the same hand that woke him. It pulls him to his feet and steadies him.

“Peace. It’s only me.”

Ravus. Ignis rubs at his sleep-crusted face with a hand that does not want to obey. His own fingers feel cold and wooden. The raised dots from the book have pressed a pattern into his cheek. 

“Your Highness…”

“What on Eos are you doing up at this hour?”

“What are you doing?” Ignis’ sleep-fogged brain challenges before he can reconsider.

“I could not sleep,” the prince admits. “Will… Will you sit with me for a bit?”

Ignis nods. Ravus tucks Ignis’ fingers under his elbow, and draws him over to the sofa that stands before the dormant fireplace. Ravus pokes it to life. The sudden puff of heat is a blessed relief from the cold that seems to seep in through the tile floor and the many windows. The sweatshirt he’s got over his pajamas doesn’t help all that much.

The cushions crush and slant as Ravus takes a seat next to him. He pulls a throw off the back of the sofa, draping it and his arm around Ignis’ shoulders. Before Ravus can withdraw his arm, Ignis leans into his warmth. To his mild surprise, Ravus leans his head against his. This is nice. Very nice. Something in Ignis’ chest unclenches, allowing him to take what feels like his first full breath in ages. Despite the slightly awkward position, he could fall asleep right here.

“Better?” Ravus asks. His left arm is settled comfortably over Ignis’ shoulders, his right has found Ignis’ hand.

“Yes. Thank you.”

There’s that kiss to the hair again. Ignis can’t help a small smile. For a moment, Ravus rests his chin on Ignis’ head. He shifts, lips touching Ignis’ forehead in an unmistakable kiss.

Ignis freezes. He had not imagined it, then, unless he’s dreaming now. He doesn’t think he is. Ravus’ right hand has moved to tilt Ignis’ chin up just so. No. Surely not. He’s certainly dreaming. The warm breath on his face is not real, nor are the lips that hesitantly touch his own.

Ignis can only sit there, shocked into stillness, into silence. Ravus’ hand glides up to cup Ingis’ jaw and draw him closer. The second kiss is deeper, more confident, even passionate. It’s that last one that finally breaks the spell; causes Ignis to jerk back and out of the Prince’s grasp.

“I’m sorry!” Ravus reaches out a hand to keep Ignis from falling off the sofa in his haste to escape.

“I’m sorry, it was too forward of me. I assumed too much. Forgive me.”

“What did you assume?” Ignis whispers.

Ravus’ voice drops so low he can barely make out the words: “I had hoped you might have become as fond of me as I am of you.”

Ignis feels heat flood his face, and…

_Oh._

Oh dear. Oh he didn’t need to know that; about Ravus, about _himself_. Dear, oh dear, this will never do. Not now, not ever.

“Highness...”

“Ravus.”

“ _Highness,_ ” Ignis repeats. “I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“In Shiva’s name, why not?” A pause. “...do you not feel as I do?”

Ignis can feel his face burning; has to look away. “Highness, that is not the point.”

“Is it my rank that frightens you? There is not so much distance between common and noble as there once was. Your own parents were people of means and position in the Lucian court, else you would not have been chosen to serve as valet to the royal family.”

“Indeed. I am a servant. You are a prince.”

“I am nothing.” Ravus truly believes this. “A son is worse than useless to the Nox Fleuret line. What can I do? I can neither heal the sick, nor commune with the gods. What am I but a pedestal on which my sister may stand?”

Even without kingdom or crown, Ravus is still a prince. There are expectations he must meet that do not involve Ignis. The Nox Fleurets are the last monarchs they have left. Ravus is valuable if for no other reason than they need another figurehead; someone with the clout and presence of a born ruler. Leaders- royal and otherwise- are thin on the ground these days. No one may be bothered about political marriages now, but they will be eventually.

“You are a noble son,” Ignis continues. “It is my duty to serve, not to rise above my station. I know my place, and it can never be in your arms.”

Ravus’ breath hitches and he leans back. However, he does not release Ignis’ hand.

“Please know that it is not my intent to come between you and your duty; to separate you from your beloved king. All I am asking is for you to consider. Noctis is the Chosen King. I believe in my heart that he will return and restore Light to Eos, but we both know what that means. The Light may return, but your king will be gone. Whom then will you serve?”

“Dammit,” Ignis mutters, struggling against an unbidden surge of tears. “Ravus, that isn’t fair!”

“It is not,” Ravus agrees. “Both Noctis and Lunafreya may be gone before the starscourge is cleansed from the land. I will do my best to protect her, but… If both of them are lost, what then is my purpose? There is no such thing as a King of Tenebrae. The crown will pass to my nearest female relative.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” Ignis asks.

“Yes. I will never be more than a curiosity in my own country.”

Ignis nods. For some reason, he had not considered that this might cost Luna her life as well. It is a sobering thought, one that casts light on many possibilities he had not thought open to him. Perhaps losing his vision has made him short-sighted in other ways. Normally he is the one to always be mindful of the big picture, to play the long game. However, he’d never thought about what he might do with himself after… He still cannot make himself think it, much less say it.

“I had always thought that if my king were to die, then I would surely already be dead myself,” Ignis admits. “I’d never considered the possibility that I might outlive him.”

“Consider it,” Ravus asks- begs- reaching to smooth a strand of hair behind Ignis’ ear. “Consider standing by my side, not as a servant, but as a partner, a helpmeet. As one whom I can trust. When the Chosen King returns, I will ask nothing of you. Instead, I shall stand beside you and defend him. If we are still alive after the Light has been restored…” He trails off, uncertain.

“Consider the possibility. Consider what it might be like to live, and to stand beside another who cares for you.”

Romance is not something to which Ignis has ever devoted much thought. A royal valet’s life revolves around that of the king. However, if there is no king… Can he so easily pledge fealty to another? What does it say about him that he would be willing to swap allegiance so easily?

No. No, he couldn’t. It is not his place. What business has he becoming entangled with royalty? A good valet has no other thought but for his king. His calling is to serve. There is no room in his life for love, for family. Noctis will die, and Ignis will die with him. There is no more to be said on the matter.

“I cannot. I’m sorry.”

A long and uncomfortable silence follows.

“Tell me truthfully, and I will not ask again. Do you not feel any affection for me at all?”

Ignis grits his teeth. He should say ‘no’, and save them all the aggravation. It would be easiest for everyone. Cut him now, to save them both greater pain later.

“Yes,” he hears himself whisper as his traitorous eyes spill over. “But I cannot neglect my duty.”

“You love him.”

Ignis shakes his head. “Not like that. I have known Noctis since he was six years old. I have been by his side ever since. I love him as a dear little brother, or even a son. I cannot imagine my life without him.”

Ravus takes Ignis’ hand and places it against his cheek. A streak of wetness meets Ignis’ palm. Like this, he can feel the muscles of the prince’s face pulling down in defeat.

“I understand,” Ravus says, voice little more than a husky whisper. “It was unfair of me to ask. Forgive me.”

Ignis nods, the knot in his throat too great to allow speech. Ravus leans and touches his lips to Ignis’ forehead. The gesture is chaste, reverent, and Ignis nearly breaks down.

“Then let us go on as we have been: friends and comrades. Nothing more.”

It is all Ignis can do to force the words out. “Nothing more.”


	10. Big Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravus admits defeat, Luna remembers a critical detail, and Ignis has had enough.

“He said ‘no’.”

It’s all Ravus says before sinking down on the edge of his sister’s bed and hiding his face in his hands.

“I pushed too hard and I lost him.”

“Ravus…” Lunafreya comes and sits beside him. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry. I was so certain that he liked you.” Putting her arms around him, she hugs him close.

“He does, I think,” Ravus says, defeated. “But he loves his king more. Perhaps it was indelicate of me to suggest… Well, as I said, I pushed too hard.”

Lunafreya is unsure what to say to that. She had been convinced that Ignis had feelings for her brother. Certainly he is devoted to Noctis, but… Wait.

“Noctis is absent,” she reasons aloud. “Gladio’s father was not nobility, and Prompto has no family at all. Ignis’ father, however, was a Lord. My dear, I think he rebuffed you because he _had_ to.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Lunafreya combs her brother’s hair back from his face with her fingers.

“It didn’t occur to me until now. Unless there are any Dukes or Counts still alive- doubtful- Ignis is the next highest ranking official after Noctis. Since Noctis isn’t here, Ignis becomes Regent of Lucis by default. As acting regent, he may not make any significant voluntary changes to his own life for at least a year. Chiefly, he may not marry. I believe it had to do with some scandal two or three centuries ago. In short, he must put his own life on hold until the required number of days has passed, or the king returns.”

“You only think to tell me this _now?_ ”

“Noctis isn’t dead,” she says softly, ever so slightly defensive. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think… Oh Ravus, please forgive me. If I’d only thought...”

“Astrals above,” Ravus groans and hugs her close to show that he is not angry. “What a fool I am.”

“You cannot be expected to know every detail of Lucian royal law,” Luna soothes. “I’m not sure anyone outside of Ignis and myself would be aware of it.” Obviously Noctis would be, but if he were here, it would all be moot.

“I’d apologize, but I don’t think it would help. I think I frightened him.”

“Why? What did you do?”

“Kissed him.” He blushes at her skeptical look. “I won’t demonstrate this time. Suffice to say it was a real kiss. I thought...I thought he was pleased until he wasn’t.”

Ravus sighs, shakes his head. “Even without the politics, perhaps it was simply too soon. He’s been through a lot, after all. Perhaps mine is not the hand to lead him until he can learn to make his own way.”

“I’m sorry, Ravus.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. It is done. Let us speak of it no more.”

\--

Iris, as Luna’s new lady-in-waiting, decides it makes more sense if she’s closer to the Princess. They shuffle bedrooms again, with Iris taking Ignis’ old room in the Nox Fleuret’s apartments, and Ignis moving into hers. This means a queen-sized bed all to himself. Ignis silently despairs of ever sleeping again. His brain is not sorry that he gave Ravus the brush-off. Better to nip it in the bud before it can blossom into something that may become too deeply rooted to prune back. His heart, however, is not speaking to him. Rather, Ignis wishes it wasn’t. Still, he’s no stranger to putting on his Chamberlain Face and getting the job done.

Evidently either himself or Ravus, or perhaps both of them, must not be doing as convincing a job of keeping calm and carrying on as he thought.

“The hell’s going on with you two?” Aranea asks. “Did you guys break up or something?”

Ignis has no idea if he’s actually looking at her, but he can feel his features twist into a withering glare. She puts her hands up in surrender.

“Hey, no judgement, but the Glacean’s corpse is warmer than the space between the two of you. We’ve all got to put up with each other. Can’t any afford internal squabbles.”

Ignis feels his expression soften. “No squabbling, Commodore, I assure you. The situation has been dealt with. This is...simply a period of adjustment.”

“You need somebody to play peace maker? Or bridge troll?”

The smile catches him unaware. “Neither.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t butt in. Let me know if you need a second though, okay Specs?”

Ignis almost drops the sheaf of papers he’s carrying. No one has called him that since… His brain will not supply a word for what happened. If faced with circumstances a second time, he would still make the same choice, but perhaps his wounds go deeper than ruined eyes and scarred skin. He swallows hard, feels Aranea’s strong fingers latch onto his shoulder. Almost out of reflex, he reaches to touch her hand.

“You okay?”

“No one’s called me that for quite some time,” he admits. His voice comes out strained and husky and he hates himself for it.

“Shit! Sorry…” Her hand jerks away.

“No, please. I don't mind. Indeed, I’d rather missed it.”

She pats him on the shoulder; a daintier version of Gladio’s hearty thump. “Okay then. Specs.”

\--

Daily business goes on. The MTs are doing well, the citizens of Tenebrae slowly warming up to them. Aranea had the idea of editing their armor so that it more closely matches that of the Tenebraen royal guard. There’s certain pieces the MTs must maintain or else risk evaporating in daylight, but Prompto nods approvingly at the collective makeover.

“They look good, Iggy. I think you’d approve,” he says amid the click and whir of his camera. He could take pictures with his phone, but this is one instance where Prompto is an unflinching perfectionist.

Bob- who has become Ignis’ valet-cum-secretary- seems pleased with his new look. He isn’t stupid, just limited in how he can express himself. Ignis appreciates that in ways that the others cannot.

“Sir!” Despite Ignis’ best efforts, Bob will not call him anything else. “Uniform upgrade!”

Ignis can just make out the waiver of Bob’s body as he does his best to pose- the physical attitudes no doubt learned from Prompto. And then he remembers.

“For your inspection,” Bob says, taking Ignis’ hand and pressing the palm to the fabric of his new uniform.

“Very handsome,” Ignis tells him sincerely. “It suits you.”

He doesn’t need to see Bob’s familiar grin to know it’s there.

\--

True to her word, Aranea says no more about the internal politics of their little group. If she says anything to Ravus or Luna, Ignis does not hear about it. Ignis assumes Ravus has explained the situation to Luna in as much detail as he cares to share. Gladio and Prompto seem confused, and Ignis does not bother to enlighten them. If Ravus is actively avoiding him, Ignis deliberately dismisses it from his mind. A bit of distance right now is probably for the best.

It’s not until Gladio comes to make him set his work aside and eat lunch that the subject rears its ugly head once more.

“So,” Gladio begins. “You and Ravus.”

“Me and Ravus, what?”

There is an awkward pause.

“You,” Gladio says again, “and Ravus. Together.”

“I beg your pardon?” Ignis says, an edge of indignation coloring his words.

“So you’re not?”

 

“Gladiolus, if you aren’t going to use full sentences I cannot be expected to follow.”

“Right sorry.” There’s a lumpy sort of motion that Ignis thinks is Gladio awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… There is no way for me to say this without sounding like an asshole.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Gladio laughs at that and Ignis smiles. “Yeah okay, I walked right into that one.”

“You did, rather, yes.”

Gladio takes a deep breath. “I’ve seen him looking at you. He doesn’t look at anybody else that way. Prompto will back me up on this. Ravus likes you.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, we’ve already discussed it and decided anything outside of a strictly professional relationship would be inappropriate.”

“You did, huh?” Gladio sounds unimpressed. “So you’re not into him at all?”

“I fail to see how that is a pertinent issue.” Ignis hopes he can play off the heat rising in his cheeks as anger.

“It is the _only_ issue,” Gladio insists. “Six, you’re impossible sometimes!”

“You have no room to talk.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one purposely cock-blocking myself.”

Ignis points a scandalized look in what he hopes is Gladio’s direction since all he can do is sputter in mute indignation. Gladio, however, is unperturbed.

“Like I said, I’ve seen him watching you. Six, it’s disgusting. You wouldn’t think a guy that big would have such a good puppy face. It’s obvious he’s got it bad and you’re oblivious.”

“I’m not oblivious,” Ignis mumbles, looking away. “We agreed…”

“You ran him off is what you did.”

“What _else_ was I supposed to to?” Ignis finally explodes. “Invite him into my bed? Propose marriage? Ravus is _royalty_. His hand is not mine to ask for. What good is starting something that can only end badly? I’m not interested in a fling. I’m not going to make it any harder for him to do his duty as a prince. I’m not going to make mine any harder as an advisor.”

Somewhere off to his right, Gladio shifts in his seat. Ignis is right. Gladio _knows_ Ignis is right, he just hates it.

“Ignis,” the word is uncharacteristically small and fragile, “you’re allowed to be happy.”

Ignis reaches, finds Gladio’s enormous shoulder and pats it. “I know you have my best interests at heart, but contrary to popular belief, getting me laid will not solve anything. It will, in fact, only complicate matters.”

Gladio snickers at that. “I dunno. I don’t think you’d have to twist his arm too hard. I know, I know, you want something long-term,” Gladio hurries to add as Ignis opens his mouth to protest. “We just… Look, don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

Ignis nods to show he’s heard, too busy replaying dozens of instances over in his mind, a new and awkward thought rising to the surface. Perhaps romance had been Ravus’ intention from the start?

No, surely not! If Gladio or Prompto had started awake from nightmares, Ignis would have done no less for them. Surely all that can still be categorized as innocent. Ravus had cited the kiss to the forehead as something he’d often done for his sister. The gesture had been repeated here and there, but the instances all fall into one of two categories: extreme duress, and the night they sat together on the library sofa.

Then again, perhaps it is Ignis himself who is the guilty party. The Nox Fleurets are comparatively new to their little band. Perhaps what seems perfectly acceptable between himself, Gladio, and Prompto might be considered too forward to the Nox Fleurets? Has he been abusing Ravus’ goodwill this entire time? Leading him on without even realizing it? Ignis feels ill at the thought.

“Iggy?”

“Sorry. Yes?”

“You just seemed like you were a million miles away.”

Ignis shrugs. “Not as far as all that, just thinking some things over.”

“Look I know it’s not really any of my business. I’m sorry for butting in. I just...thought you should know.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”


	11. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aranea intervenes.

The Gralean winter Prompto had warned them about sweeps in, bringing rain, sleet, snow, and hail, as well as a torrent of daemons. The good news is that the snow slows even the largest of the twisted beings wrought of starscourge. The bad news, is that it will slow everyone else down as well. Luna, upon witnessing a third day of blizzard, sinks to the sofa looking ill.

“I was afraid of this. I knew… I _knew_ , and yet I did nothing.”

“I’m not sure this counts as nothing, Princess,” Prompto gestures vaguely at the restored room of the manor, apparently trying to encompass the country as a whole.

“We should have evacuated when we had the chance,” Ravus explains. “If we knew when his Majesty would be returning, we could make arrangements to wait for him here. We have no idea how long it will take for the Crystal to release him. We do, however, know that we have an ever-increasing daemon problem steadily coming in from the Gralean border.”

They’ve waited months now. Tenebrae is in better shape than when they found it, but unless Noctis returns soon, they cannot hope to rage a war night after lengthening night. Eventually, the daemons will overpower them. Eventually, Bob and his countless brothers will die needlessly, trying to defend the people who set them free. Eventually, they will have to make a choice: face these grim possibilities, or flee.

“So you’re saying we need to evacuate,” Gladio finishes.

“We should have done that like six months ago,” Prompto grumbles. “Heck, as soon as we got back from Gralea. I dunno Tenebraen weather, but if it keeps on like this, we’ll soon be snowed under.”

“How many?” Aranea’s voice pierces the conversation. Since her arrival, she’s been given a place at their little council meetings.

“How many?” she repeats. “I’ve got ships, you’ve got ships. There’s also the train. We can get your people to safety. Just tell me where to take them.”

Everyone stares at her.

“Look, if we start now, we can at least get _some_ people to safety. Triage it; the very old, very young, and very sick go first. Then we move on to families. Soldiers go last.”

Ignis can only assume that everyone is staring at her, slightly agog, or perhaps- like himself- refining the plan in their heads.

Gladio gives an approving harrumph. “That’s just crazy enough to work.”

“Yes. An excellent idea, Commodore.” Luna, like Ignis, has never quite gotten out of the habit of addressing people by title.

“We can’t just announced evacuation plans,” Ignis reasons aloud. “We’ll start a panic. Blame it on the weather; we haven’t really got the rations to sustain everyone for the winter anyway. It won’t be a lie. We should also reach out to other cities to see who will accept refugees. It isn’t likely we’ll be able to resettle en masse.”

“What’s Insomnia look like these days?” Gladio asks.

“Well, it’s farther south, but that’s about all it’s got goin’ for it.” Aranea’s voice is sharp and decisive; delivering a status report rather than making conversation. “Plenty of empty buildings, but that’s because…”

She trails off. Ignis is sure everyone must be looking at her, stunned. He knows he is- or he’s trying to, anyway.

“I guess you guys weren’t sure how much of the news to believe.” She gives a heavy sigh. “Believe it. After King Regis’ death, most of the area around the Citadel was burned. I dunno how much is left standing. There was a massive exodus to other cities in the surrounding area. Even without the Empire, I don’t think anybody’d fight you for it now.”

“That’s no good, then,” Ignis hears himself reply, all business. He cannot bear the thought of a place he had known as home burned to the ground. Already his mind has leaped ahead to the less distressing tasks of relocating, sheltering, and feeding the Tenebraen civilians. It’s too late for him to help the Lucians, to save Insomnia. There are people living and breathing and freezing who need his help now. “We’ll simply have to look elsewhere.”

“Very well,” Luna says in a tone that closes the meeting for now. “All of you, make arrangements.”

She’s a Queen, a leader, and part of being a leader means knowing which people to assign to what tasks. By this time, most everyone knows their role. Luna trusts them to do their jobs, and do them well. No one intends to let her down.

\--

The next few weeks are pure, unadulterated chaos- a very controlled form of chaos, but chaos nonetheless. People must be documented before anything else. They’d taken an informal head count before, but a formal one must be done and quickly. Ignis contacts the surviving heads of various nations, begging for rooms for the displaced citizens of Tenebrae. Duscae has the most land to spare, plus the power plant in Lestallum. If no one minds tents and trailers for the immediate future, their doors are open.

Aranea and the liberated MTs make the first shipment of refugees only weeks later. Ignis, after much protest and arguing, goes with them. He tells himself, as the others have told him, that it is because he has the best head for this sort of thing. Ignis knows how to manage chaos, to direct bedlam, and how to force cooperation out of people in crisis. It has nothing to do with getting him safely out of the way of physical harm. The fact that he leaves with the first ships carrying the old, the ill, and the infirm is simply grotesque coincidence. But he can’t silence the voice inside his head that laughs at him, and tells him that he is rightly numbered among these hapless souls who cannot fend for themselves. It makes something inside him burn; the heat varying from the smoulder of wounded pride, to the hotter flame of self-chastisement.

“Sir?” Bob asks, hesitant. Ignis shakes himself, and attempts to wade out of his mental quagmire. There are more important things to think about.

“Yes, Bob?”

Bob shifts beside him, the motion felt more than seen.

“Are…? Um…” He flounders for a moment, trying to find the words. Ignis resists the urge to make a guess at what he’s trying to say. Bob won’t learn anything that way.

“Stat— no… Are… Are you okay, Sir?”

Ignis smiles. That’s the most informal thing Bob’s said yet.

“I’m alright,” Ignis assures him. “Just lost in my own thoughts.”

The shadow of Bob’s nod is just visible.

“Assistance?”

“No thank you, I don’t require anything.” Ignis finds his shoulder and pats it. Surprisingly, Bob returns the gesture. Ignis smiles and pats his hand.

“Good man.”

\--

After the high altitude and cold mountain air of Tenebrae, the deserts of Duscae are a bit of a shock. Ignis adds the MTs and their light-proof armor as a possible heat concern to be addressed in the near future.

There are places for most of the refugees. It is Ignis’ job to coordinate places for the rest of them. He feels lost and alone as Aranea and her fleet take to the skies to return to Tenebrae. Bob rests a hand on his shoulder and Ignis grips it perhaps a little too tightly. He may be safe, but he feels abandoned. It is far worse to be safe and solitary than it is to be surrounded by friends in the thick of a fight.

Talcott scurries back and forth, his self-appointed page. Ignis truly doesn’t mind. The boy has the makings of a fine valet. Perhaps he will fill Ignis’ role one day. He and Bob do their best to assist Ignis. It takes both of them, as this is no small task.

Talcott is not at all afraid of Bob or his many brothers. Perhaps it’s because they all resemble Prompto. Then again, it could be Bob’s own innocent desire to learn. In many ways, he’s not much older than Talcott, and the two of them get along famously. One of few things that makes Ignis smile is listening as Talcott attempts to teach Bob some nuance of pop-culture: catch-phrases, Moogle, television, music. He’s an excellent teacher, and Bob an eager student. It occurs to Ignis that perhaps he ought to add some orientation classes for the MTs to the ‘To Do’ list.

There is too much for one person to do, but Ignis is all they have. No sooner has he gotten one group settled than another arrives. A steady flow of problems to solve keeps him busy and engaged. Ignis does not have time to feel abandoned with so many others to take care of. At least, that’s the idea.

Ignis works. Works, and works, and there are never enough hours in the day. No matter how many problems he sorts out, a dozen more arise. He should be too busy, too distracted to have any brain cells to devote to anything else. More than once, Bob or Talcott have to tap his shoulder and remind him to eat, to sleep. Ignis doesn’t need reminded. He knows, but if he stops, the thing he’s trying to desperately outrun will catch up to him and pounce.

He is surrounded by refugees, by Lestallum citizens, by tamed MTs, yet he feels as if he’s standing in the middle of the Gralean Tundra, the last man on Eos. Things no longer happen to him; they happen around him. He is the eye of this administrative storm; a calm, detached presence directing it as best he can.

It is only weeks before Aranea and her drop ships return, but it feels more like months. She brings with her more people, more problems, more work for Ignis to bury himself beneath. On one hand, he is grateful for the distraction; on the other he is tired. So tired. But he dare not rest.

“Commodore,” he says, offering his hand. Her firm grip compresses his fingers tightly enough to sting. He wonders if it’s intentional, or if she simply does not know her own strength?

“Specs,” she returns playfully. Ignis feels the faded remains of a smile flicker into place. “Six, what happened to you? You look like hell.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t looked in a mirror lately,” he deadpans. After an awkward beat of silence, she laughs. Ignis can’t help but chuckle as well. It hurts.

“Don’t worry, I don’t see a hair out of place. You just look like you haven’t slept in a week. Knowing you, you probably haven’t.”

Ignis shrugs. “There are others much worse off. I’m managing. Talcott and Bob have been indispensable.”

“Specs, just because you _can_ do all this yourself doesn’t mean you _should_.”

“Really, it’s no trouble.”

“Uh-huh,” she does not sound convinced. “I was gonna bring reinforcements next trip anyway. Think you can hold out till then?”

Of course he can. He has to. What other choice does he have?

\--

Aranea hovers at the edge of his orbit; never far away, always within shouting distance while she helps organize the latest shipment of refugees. The extra pair of hands, someone else to do the shouting, is a godsend. Up until that moment, Ignis hadn’t realized how tired he is. He sits down, just for a second, intending to dictate some reports to Bob. He rubs his face beneath his sunglasses, leans back in his chair...

He starts awake, panic making him bolt upright where he sits. Someone is shaking his shoulder. He flails wildly, scrabbling for balance, for the brain cells to summon his knives from the armiger. Each wrist is locked in a strong grip.

“Specs. _Specs!_ ”

Aranea.

“Commodore,” he gasps, light-headed from the surge of adrenaline.

“You were drooling on the desk blotter.”

“Was I?”

She snerks. “Not really, but you did pass out. I woulda let you sleep, but you kinda freaked out Bob. He was afraid you’d died.”

“Oh. No, I’m fine. Just tired. Err...low battery,” he attempts to translate.

“That’s what I told him. I sent him to take a break as well. He’s not _actually_ a robot, and neither are you.”

“Yes, well, I’d appreciate if you didn’t spread that around.”

She snorts softly. “Look, Specs. Your boys are gonna kill me if they find out I let you run yourself into the ground.”

“Have you any idea when everyone else will be arriving?” He hates how eager he sounds, like a child asking if mother and father will be home soon.

She drops his wrists, puts a hand on his shoulder. Of its own volition, his hand moves to grip her fingers. Aranea takes his hand, and then the other. She doesn’t try to break his fingers this time.

“Specs,” her voice is oddly gentle. He had thought she had only one setting: sharp, sarcastic, and slightly shouty. Another thrill of panic shivers through him, making him shudder.

“What’s going on? Talk to me. This about your prince?”

Six, did she have to phrase it like that? Perhaps she’d done so deliberately. The only answer to such a question- whether about Noctis or Ravus- is ‘yes’. Unable to bring himself to answer, Ignis looks away. His hands are shaking. _All_ of him is shaking. Astrals, when did he get like this? How? Why?

“Hey.” She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand. “You know, you’re allowed to be upset. You lost your king, you lost your sight. You’re not a soldier, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t been to war, been through hell. PTSD comes from other places besides a battlefield.”

“I’m fine,” Ignis husks, the lie so bad, so obvious, that he winces himself.

“Sure you are. When’s the last time you ate?”

He honestly doesn’t remember. “I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need food.”

“Please don’t fuss.”

“I’m not fussing. I take care of my men.” Her sharp tone has returned. Ignis thinks he prefers it to the unsettling sympathy. “Your men aren’t here, so I’m taking command. You sir, are done for the day.”

“But--!” Ignis sputters, gesturing in the direction of his desk, piled high with papers.

“What, you think I can’t handle this shit? I know this may come as a shock, but we can survive without you for a couple of hours.”

Ignis doesn’t quite manage not to flinch at that.

“It’s a stupid-ass move to wear out the people you need most,” she says, more gently. It’s still unnerving. “We need you, Specs. What we don’t need is you collapsing from exhaustion. Come on. You’re off duty until tomorrow morning.”

\--

**Group Message to: MurderFork, Purpleprose, BeefNoodle, PhotoPhan119, Chikab00  
From: PirateQueen**

**PirateQueen:** Specs running himself ragged. Need volunteer.

**BeefNoodle:** Volunteer???

**PirateQueen:** He needs help. Also hugs.

**PhotoPhan119:** Wht happened?

**PirateQueen:** PTSDing hard.

**BeefNoodle:** WTF? 

**Chikab00:** He okay?

**PirateQueen:** Made him eat/nap. Needs someone to sit on him so he doesn’t work himself todeath.

**BeefNoodle:** I’ll sit. Need to hurry up and get out of here anyway.

**PirateQueen:** Fkg call him. He needs to hear you.

**PhotoPhan119:** Will do.

**BeefNoodle:** OK call down.

**PirateQueen:** Do not start. I should call and cuss you outmyself. Be glad receptn so bad.

**MurderFork:** ty commodore

**PirateQueen:** Anything to add loverboy?

**Purpleprose:** plz dont

**PirateQueen:** Right. Pack your bags. BRT


	12. Backup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys always have each other's back.

“Gladio…” Ignis almost collapses with relief as Gladio’s huge, warm, calloused hand envelopes his own and gives it a single, hearty shake. “Thank you for coming.”

“Aranea said you needed backup. Why didn’t you tell us?”

Oh sweet Six, what has she told them? There are going to be _words_ later. For now, however, he’s too happy to see Gladio again to be angry.

“There was nothing to say. Everything’s under control.”

“The refugees are under control,” Gladio corrects. “You, however, are a hot mess. C’mere.”

Ignis doesn’t have time to protest. Gladio’s already pulled him into his arms. Ignis swallows hard as Gladio hugs him tight. Everything he’s been fighting back for the last few weeks threatens to boil to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” Gladio mumbles, and Ignis is so surprised he forgets to panic. “Dunno what the hell we were thinking, sending you off by yourself. Prom and I damn well knew better and we still let it happen. You’re not supposed to leave a man behind.”

If anyone’s been left behind, it’s Noctis. “You didn’t. You sent a man ahead.”

“Same thing.”

Despite himself, Ignis smiles. Gladio steps back and pats him roughly on the shoulder. “That’s better. Now, show me what needs doing. Everyone’s gonna get here eventually. May as well start doing my share now.”

He wedges Ignis’ fingers under his elbow and sets off. Ignis has to dance in order to keep from getting jerked off his feet, and Gladio checks his pace.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Gladio hasn’t often led him around. Usually, it’s Prompto or Ravus. Gladio is their tank, and he needs to have both his hands free. “How are the others?”

“Lost without you,” Gladio says with all sincerity. “They’re gonna call us later. Got some details to discuss.”

“Details?” Ignis gets the feeling this has nothing to do with the logistics of housing and feeding hundreds of refugees.

“Yeah. Luna wants your input for the last wave. On top of being Oracle, she’s technically Queen of Tenebrae now, and she’s wondering if she should just come in as one of the civilians, or if she ought to go full triumphal entry.”

“The latter,” Ignis says. He doesn’t even have to think about it. “She’s Oracle, and the only monarch currently present. People are still plagued with starscourge and those of us who grew up under a monarchy will feel much more at ease with an anointed ruler to look to.”

Gladio laughs. “Guess that’s that, then.”

Hardly, but they’ll discuss it later. It will be good to hear everyone’s voices again.

\--

Ignis’ office is one of the extra rooms in the administrative building for the power plant. It’s got proportions similar to a broom closet, but it’s enough for Talcott, Bob, and himself to do what needs to be done without knocking elbows too much. Wedging both himself and Gladio into the room proves a tight fit. They don’t have long to wait until Ignis’ phone rings.

“Scientia, you’re on speaker,” Ignis announces by way of a greeting.

There is a chorus of hello’s and well-wishes. It’s painfully good to hear their voices, difficult as it is to separate them.

“Hey Iggy!” Prompto calls. “You got a tan yet?”

“Hope Gladi’s behaving himself,” Iris adds.

“How are things coming along?” Lunafreya asks.

“Well enough,” Ignis replies. “We’ve found beds and food for everyone. Still working on individual roofs, though I imagine it will be some time until that’s completely sorted out. How are things up there?”

“It’s so _cold!_ ” There’s an audible shiver in Iris’ voice.

“Trying to get the last stragglers together,” Prompto puts in. “Had an interesting time convincing a few people that staying put wouldn’t be the best idea.”

“When will you arrive?”

Luna answers. “We’re hoping within the next week or so. I realize that’s not much time to prepare, but our window is rapidly closing.”

“I understand. What do you need?”

“Yeah,” Gladio adds, “you just sneaking in, or going all out? Ignis thinks you oughtta make a splash.”

“Do you indeed?”

“I do,” Ignis says with a nod, though she can’t see it. “You’re the Oracle, as well as the only monarch we have at the moment. You’ve triumphed over Niflheim if only by default. The MTs are yours to command, as are the people of your country. It would be best to make a statement along those lines.”

“Any suggestions?”

“Well, obviously what regalia you can scavenge. A white dress at the very least. Perhaps a procession into Lestallum?”

Gladio’s nod is just visible. “That could work.”

Pompto has a suggestion. “Oh hey, the Regalia! She should ride in on the back like a beauty queen. Ow! What? You got a better idea?”

Someone’s obviously smacked him upside the head, though Ignis cannot imagine who since Gladio is standing next to him.

“Cars have seatbelts for a reason, genius.”

“Commodore,” Ignis says, pleased. “I was unaware you were there as well.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just here to throw the vote in case of a tie.”

Laughter follows and Ignis helps.

“The Regalia isn’t a bad idea, though I agree with the Commodore. Seatbelts are preferable to sitting on the boot. It would also make her majesty less of a target.”

Not that anyone is likely to attack her with Niflheim out of the picture, but still.

“If uniforms can be found for the rest of you, that would also help.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

That’s Ravus. Ignis’ breath hitches. It’s a reflex, he can’t help it. He coughs into one fist, trying to play it off as nothing.

“You okay there, Iggy?”

“Desert dust, nothing more.” He can feel Gladio’s incredulous look, but ignores it. “If the MTs know any formal escort formations, I’d recommend using those.”

“Could...could we maybe come in at sundown or before dawn? So everyone can see them without the full face masks?”

There’s a pause as everyone considers whether an army of identical blonde-haired men would be more or less alarming than robots in metal masks. In the end, Ignis decides Prompto’s suggestion has merit.

“We begin to lose the light around 6pm here,” Ignis says, thinking out loud. “The gates are barred at 10pm. Only foot traffic is allowed through after that. Would that be doable?”

There’s some muttering and background noise. “Yeah, that should be fine. Sooo start the parade at 7PM or so? They’ll still need to wear helmets, but should be okay without the faceplates.”

“Will you and Mayor Teulle be there to welcome us formally?” Luna asks.

“Yes of course, your Majesty. Gladio and I will certainly be here waiting for you, but I would hate to upstage the mayor. It might be better for us to act as an honor guard, nothing more.”

“Ignis,” Ravus’ voice cuts through the silence. “Until Noctis returns, you’re acting steward of Lucis.”

Ignis cannot think, cannot breathe. Had he not already been sitting, he would have dropped straight to the floor, the shock is so great.

“What?” he croaks. “That cannot be. I am a valet; a Lord in name only. Surely there are others…”

His protests trail off as Aranea voices his thoughts:

“Specs, the Empire took out anyone with even a remote claim to the throne a long time ago. Lucis doesn’t even have any members of parliament left to fall back on. You’re it.” There’s a pause and Ignis braces himself for what she might say next, but it isn’t Aranea who speaks. It’s Ravus:

“I can’t think of a better man for the job.”

Ignis swallows hard, forcing back a sudden lump in his throat. How could he have forgotten? Noctis isn’t ill, or under-age, but he _is_ absent. Surely there is someone else left, someone more qualified than himself; a count or duke living somewhere in exile. Yet he knows in his heart, there isn’t

This is all wrong, so wrong. How can he step into Noctis’ place, even in a strictly administrative sense? It’s not that he is incapable of doing the work- some adjustments will need to be made due to his handicap, of course- he is entirely capable. But this is not a role he should have ever had to fill. He is a servant, not a leader. But Noctis isn’t here, and he is. It is his duty to keep things running smoothly until Noctis returns. Taking a shuddering breath, Ignis does his best to pull himself together.

“Thank you. I appreciate the vote of confidence. In that case, the mayor and I will indeed formally welcome you to the city. Gladio and I will arrange things on this end. Any other thoughts and feelings?”

“What are we to do about Noctis?” Lunafreya asks. Ignis winces at the vulnerability in her voice. What indeed?

“I ran into a couple of displaced Glaives and Crownsguard at one of the Hunter outposts,” Aranea speaks up. “Bet they’d come and stand guard if we asked them.”

“We couldn’t leave them here!” Iris sounds horrified.

“Look, little sister, we can’t stay here, but that doesn’t mean we have to leave the prince on his own. If anyone can survive up here, it’s the Lucian royal guard. They’ll be fine.”

Having the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard back on the job does much to reassure Ignis. Like Iris, he worries about leaving them to a land frozen solid and inhabited only by daemons. But they cannot leave Noctis alone. This seems the best option at present.

“That’s one problem solved then. What else?”

“The hell we gonna stick everybody?” Gladio says more to Ignis than the group as a whole. “The Leville’s booked solid and we barely have room for the refugees as it is.”

Ignis compresses his lips into a thin line and sighs through his nose. “We have time. We’ll think of something.”

“Keep us posted,” Luna tells him. “Be well. See you soon.”

“And you as well, Majesty.”

“Bye Iggy!”

“Bye!”

“Later, Specs.”

There is no word from Ravus.

\--

Lestallum is full to bursting, and there really isn’t room to spare. However, Ignis has been given a room at the Leville for the duration. Lately, he’s been sharing it with Bob. His assistant, however, is presently engaged in welcoming and orienting his many brethren. With every drop ship of Tenebraen civilians had come a small contingent of awakened MTs. It’s been a slow process, but people are gradually warming up to them. It helps to know they’re human underneath.

Ignis makes room for Gladio in the hotel suite. It’s spacious enough for two. There had been a time when all six of them would pile into a room no larger than this. At the time it had seemed cramped, but Ignis misses being surrounded. It’s easier to sleep with the presence of others to ward off the nightmares.

There are two double beds, but Gladio resolutely climbs in next to him. The deliberate, intentional shift of weight and muscle dare Ignis to protest. He doesn’t bother. It doesn’t do any good to argue with Gladio once he’s got his mind made up. If Ignis is honest, the weepy, needy part of him that’s gotten so loud of late is glad.

Before the Nox Fleurets joined their merry band, Ignis and Gladio usually wound up in the same motel bed. Gladio’s big; warm, and solid. So is Ravus, but he’s slightly taller, leaner, and doesn’t radiate heat the same way Gladio does. Everything about Gladio is bulky, where Ravus is a bit more streamlined. They both snore, but Ravus somehow manages a sort of regal restraint. Gladio- depending on the season- can sometimes be loud enough to rattle the light fixtures. Ignis doesn’t care. It will be a tremendous comfort to know without seeing that he is not alone in the dark.

“Would it be weird if I said I’d kinda missed this?” Gladio says into the darkened room. “Once Ravus and Luna came, and we had to shuffle up, I almost felt kinda jealous. Like, no dammit, that’s _my_ friend, I saw him first! I know it’s stupid and childish and I don’t feel that way anymore, but...at the time it felt like I’d been demoted.”

“I’d no idea,” Ignis admits. “I wish you’d said something.”

“Nah, you had your own shit to deal with. Didn’t need me making things harder with my stupidity. S’all it was, anyway. I got over myself. It’s just...nice to know you’re right here where I can keep an eye on you.”

Ignis chuckles. Normally it’s him keeping everyone else in line and on task. Still, it’s Gladio’s job to keep everyone safe, and he can appreciate the sentiment.

Wait.

“ _You_ don’t have a crush on me, do you?” Astrals above, he hopes not.

“Six, no!” Gladio says, sounding horrified. “That’d just be weird. I mean, I like you fine but no. You are _so_ not my type. Just...no.”

Ignis lets his breath out in a sigh. At least he doesn’t have to worry about _that._

“Missed you, though.”

“I’ve missed you as well.” Ignis swallows hard, not trusting himself to say more.

“Iggy?”

“Good night, Gladio.”

“Iggy, seriously. You okay?”

“Fine.” It’s hard to force the word out, his throat is so tight.

“Like hell. Unless this is ‘cause of...what happened.” Ignis blinks as Gladio’s thick thumb smears wetness across his cheek. Ignis puts his own fingers to his ruined eyes and finds them spilling over, tears trailing back towards his ears.

“Oh,” he says, bewildered. “I think it must be. I can’t even feel it.”

“So your eyes are watering because of the damage, or you’re crying and you don’t realize it?”

Ignis tries to take a steady breath to reply and fails. He hates that this keeps sneaking up on him, that he can’t beat it back to deal with at a more convenient time- or more preferably, not at all.

“Right. The second one. C’mere.”

Ignis turns and huddles into Gladio’s warm bulk. The arms that pull him close are thick and heavy, but it’s a protective gesture, in no way threatening. Instead of calming his nerves, however, it only makes it worse. Gladio makes soothing noises and smooths his back with one hand. Ignis feels like he might be sick, the lump in his throat big and hard enough to gag. Gladio doesn’t say anything, doesn’t judge, just holds on until Ignis has cried himself out.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis gasps, mortified. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I don’t know when I got so...so _weak_.”

“Iggy,” Gladio’s tone is an awkward mix of hurt and concerned. “You are one of the strongest people I know. You know damn well this doesn’t make you less of a person.”

He knows. His head knows it. It’s difficult,however, to get the rest of him to agree.

“You took a major hit,” Gladio goes on. “I know you’d do it again in a heartbeat, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It’s okay if you’re freaked-out. You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed, scared, maybe a little angry too. That’s _okay_. I’d be more worried if you didn’t.”

“I feel as if I’ve no right to complain,” Ignis tries to explain. “This was my choice. I was prepared to sacrifice whatever was needed. I still am. But…”

“Yeah.”

Ignis is beyond grateful that he doesn’t have to try to explain. Despite his incoherence, Gladio gets it. Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto all speak the language of pain fluently. They’ve taken care of Noctis for the better part of their own lives. With their prince gone, they must turn that care toward each other.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Ignis says into Gladio’s chest. “It’s like I’ve broken. Nothing works the way it should, they way it used to. I’ve gotten so clingy, so afraid. I’m not myself anymore.”

“Iggy, you lost your godsdamned _eyes_. I know you gave them willingly, but that’s still a huge adjustment to make. You lost a major piece of sensory input. Things _are_ going to be weird and scary and confusing. You can’t operate the way you did because a key piece of hardware is _gone_. If I couldn’t see everyone anymore, I’d want to know they were there any way I could. It’s not wrong to want to be touched.”

“You’re not broken,” Gladio assures him, snugging his arms around Ignis just a little bit tighter. “You’re still you. We just gotta figure out another way to get things done. That’s all.”

When put like that, Ignis almost believes he can do this. It’s the first encouraging thought he’s had for a while. He smiles a little to himself as he drifts off. With Gladio there, his sleep is deep and blessedly empty.

\--

Ignis half expects to be alone as wakefulness steals upon him. It takes a moment to register that Gladio’s curled protectively around him, Ignis’ back tucked to his chest. It’s morning. There’s light enough to slant through the curtains and the remaining crack in his vision. His phone begins to buzz and blair, rattling across the nightstand. Ignis stretches to turn it off. Behind him, Gladio stirs and shifts.

“Five more minutes?” he yawns.

Ignis snuggles back into him. He’s got a mild headache from his theatrics the night before, and Gladio is warm, and the bed is comfortable.

“Five more minutes,” Ignis agrees.


	13. Return of The Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her Royal Highness the Oracle returns from exile.

Ignis and Gladio process one more shipment of refugees before Lunafreya and her entourage arrive. Prompto is leading this one, and he barrels into Ignis’ arms for a hug without hesitation. Thanks to Gladio, Ignis has gotten less shy about asking for contact.

“Prompto.” He smiles and returns the smaller man’s hug. “Good to see you again.”

“You too, Iggy, Gladio.”

“Bout time you got here, squirt.” The smile is obvious in Gladio’s voice. “Got all our stuff?”

“Yep. Everything’s here.” Prompto pats what Ignis assumes is his duffel. “Aranea pulled some strings, got us everything we need.”

“Very capable is our Commodore,” Ignis agrees. He admires her sheer ability to make things happen.

“Sooo we ready?”

Gladio hefts his own duffel. “Show time.”

\--

Prompto only stays long enough to deliver the duffel containing their Crownsguard uniforms. Well, not their own uniforms, but ones that should fit. How Aranea got a hold of them, Ignis dares not ask. Gladio will stay here with Ignis to greet the approaching entourage. Prompto will drive the Regalia with Iris riding shotgun. Ravus and Luna will sit in the back like the royalty they are.

Ignis knows what they’ve planned with Mayor Teulle; the route of the procession, the banners and strings of fairy lights in addition to the street lamps and local neon, but cannot see it for himself. He shifts where he stands, fingers rippling over the brass head of his walking stick. Gladio has assured him his uniform fits well enough, but it’s slightly too big and feels as if it must gape horribly in all the wrong places. The insignia and crests on the sleeves and collar have been hastily altered. Scrounging a Regent’s Star from somewhere would be asking entirely too much, so they’ve improvised with a deep blue sash to mark Ignis visually. Not that it matters. No one’s here to see him. He is backdrop for the Oracle, nothing more.

“Nervous?” Gladio asks.

“I wish I could see it,” Ignis admits. “Tell me what’s going on?”

“Oh, er, well, I’ll try? You know I’m no good with words.”

Ignis smiles. “All those books and yet you claim a lack of vocabulary?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“How would you put it if you were going to write it down? How would your favorite author describe it?”

It’s Gladio’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “Alright, but don’t laugh.”

“I would never,” Ignis tells him honestly.

Gladio edges closer, clears his throat.

“Twilight has fallen over the plains of Cleigne, yet the city gates of Lestallum remain open wide. Overhead, the bright lights of the city outshine the stars, but none can compete with the Oracle. Her white gown glows beneath the lamps, bright against the glossy black of the Regalia. She wears no crown, no jewels, but she doesn’t need to. Her bearing alone marks her as Queen, as Oracle.

“Beside her sits her brother, the Prince, also in white. Members of the Crownsguard sit up front to safely convey them to their destination. Before and behind them are row after row of guards in full armor, but without arms. What they do have is an eerie similarity, as if they were all related in some way. Some seem wary, others intent, yet most of them are smiling. One or two forget themselves and wave. No one rebukes them.

“The Regalia glides to a halt and the Crownsguard get out to hold the doors for their majesties. Lunafreya takes her brother’s arm and he escorts her toward the platform where the Mayor of Lestallum and Regent of Lucis awate. The Crownsguard follow close behind.”

Gladio’s voice returns to it’s usual rough, informal tone. “Ready?”

Ignis shakes himself, gives a perfunctory tug on his sash of office. “Yes.”

“Your Royal Highness,” the Mayor’s voice cuts through the jubilation of the crowd. “Welcome to Lestallum.”

“Mayor Teulle.” That’s Luna’s voice, quite close at hand. What with all the cheering and shouting from the gathered crowd, he had not heard her approach. “Lord Scientia. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

Ignis puts out his hand and feels her small, slender fingers grip his own. He relaxes ever so slightly. Everyone’s here. Everyone except Noctis, but he has people to look out for him. Thanks to Aranea, there are Glaives and Crownsguard watching over him in Gralea. Everything is as alright as it’s going to get for now.

“Your Majesty,” Ignis replies unable to offer anything more coherent. Luna’s let go and another familiar hand has taken his.

“Your Highness,” he rasps by some miracle as Ravus shakes once and lets go. Gladio takes his arm and gently pulls him back a few steps as Luna begins her speech. Ignis doesn’t hear a word of it. He’s still reeling, trying desperately to get ahold of himself. For some reason he had not foreseen this becoming an issue.

“Iggy?” Gladio’s deep voice rumbles in what passes for a whisper for him. “You okay?”

He grips Gladio’s arm more tightly. “Don’t let go?”

Gladio pats his hand. “I won’t. I promise.”

He’s as good as his word. Gladio holds on while Luna finishes her speech to thunderous applause. He doesn’t let go even as they all shake hands again and Luna descends to bless the public for a bit. The whole walk back to the Leville, Gladio keeps Ignis’ hand firmly pinned under his elbow. Not until they’re back in their hotel room, does he ask if it’s alright to let go.

Ignis drops his arm and clenches his hands in his lap. Gladio’s deposited him on the edge of the hotel bed. A room has been scrounged for Luna and Iris to share, but Prompto and Ravus will be bunking in here. There is simply nowhere else to go with them. This should not be an issue, but Ignis is shaking and he cannot make himself stop.

“Hey.” Gladio’s big, warm hands descend onto his shoulders. “Iggy, what’s wrong?”

He cannot speak. With no other recourse, he reaches for Gladio. The larger man folds him into his arms and holds him close.

“It’s okay. You did great,” Gladio soothes, rubbing his back. “The whole thing went off without a hitch.”

“I’m sorry,” Ignis apologizes. “I don’t… I’m not sure what my problem is.”

“Delayed stage fright. It happens.”

Among other things.

“Ravus is staying with us.”

Gladio stops short, muscles tensing. “That a problem?”

“No.” It shouldn’t be. It doesn’t need to be. It won’t be, dammit.

“But it will be weird?”

“Yes,” Ignis admits, miserably.

“Well, two ways to go on that. You two can kiss and make up--”

Ignis pulls back enough to give him an annoyed look. Gladio, the heartless bastard, laughs.

“--or you can just stick close to me. Let him and Prom fight over blankets. You and I used to be bunkmates before this. Only reason I didn’t kick his royal ass out of my spot is because it outranked mine.”

Ignis can’t help laughing at this and hugs Gladio again. The erratic beat of his heart has calmed, and he feels more grounded. He can do this. He can.

\--

He can’t do this. It’s more difficult than he’d thought to interact, even professionally on the clock, where all they do is relay information and give orders. Because Luna’s primary duty is to act as Oracle, Ravus winds up doing a lot of the daily administrative business. This means the two deputy rulers wind up interacting much more than Ignis had anticipated. Out of sheer cowardice, Ignis often delegates to Bob or Talcott when he’s got to deal with Ravus directly. Aranea is right. This isn’t going to work, but Ignis isn’t sure what else to do.

On the plus side, there are many more surviving Lucian citizens than anyone had thought. They come out of the proverbial woodwork to solicit answers from their steward: When will the king return? Will Insomnia be rebuilt? What are they to do in the meantime? Regrettably, Ignis’ answers are open-ended at best. He cannot tell them what he does not know himself. He rather fervently hopes Noctis will return soon- but when he does…

The sooner Noctis returns, the sooner they will lose him.

Ignis swallows hard and tries to force himself to be calm. He is not the only one who will be hurt by the loss of Noctis. Will not Gladio and Prompto be grieved as well? And what of Ravus and Luna- assuming she survives? Guilt makes a poor salve for sorrow, but it’s better than bursting into tears at his desk for no reason. Astrals, he hopes whatever stage of grief or trauma or whatever this is supposed to be ends soon. He doesn’t have time for this.

“Lonely?” an oily voice asks. Ignis freezes, breath caught in his lungs. Oh gods. Surely he’s hearing things. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, all remaining senses tuned to high alert. The air shifts, the blood-and-mildew scent of starscourge wafts past his nose.

No. Impossible. They saw him dead. ...hadn’t they?

“It’s you who’s left your prince, not the other way around.”

Ignis stands, energy humming thick as storm static around him in preparation to summon his blades.

“That’s ‘King’ to you,” he growls. “How did you get in here?”

He should be able to tell where Izunia is. The man wears starscourge the way others wear too much cologne. Ignis’ nose is burning with the stench of it.

“What do you want?”

“Oh nothing much, just delivering a little friendly reminder. I’d hate to think you’d forgotten about me the way you’ve forgotten about your king.”

Ignis summons a knife and hurls it. He hears it splinter the wood as it hits the far wall. Izunia tsk’s, and Ignis physically jumps as a hand descends on his shoulder.

“Iggy?”

“ _GET OFF ME!_ ” he bellows, slashing with his remaining knife.

“Whoa! What the hell, Iggy?!”

Wait. That’s not Izunia, it’s…

“Gladio?” Ignis is too keyed up to be embarrassed as his voice cracks.

“It’s Gladio. Iggy, what happened? You’ve gone white.”

Or is it?

“What’s my middle name?”

“The hell? Iggy, you _hate_ your middle name.”

“ _What’s my middle name?_ ” Ignis demands, brandishing his knife. A pair of hands go up in surrender.

“Stupeo! You’re middle name’s ‘Stupeo’. What the hell’s going on?”

The knives vanish- even the one stuck in the far wall- as he realizes Izunia’s stench is gone. He doesn’t sit so much as drop heavily into his chair, shaking.

“Izunia was in my office.”

“Wait, what? How?”

“I don’t know. Obviously, I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him, smell him. He… he…” Ignis swallows, tries to take a calming breath. Hesitantly, Gladio touches his hand. Ignis takes it and grips it hard.

“I don’t _think_ I was dreaming or hallucinating.”

He can just make out the flicker of movement of Gladio’s nod. “I believe you.” He rubs his warm hands over Ignis’ cold fingers. It’s soothing. “I’ll have a unit of MTs do a sweep, make sure he isn’t hiding anywhere. I mean, guy’s kinda hard to miss.”

Ignis chuckles a little at that. “Indeed.”

Gladio draws him out of the room and down to the security office. Ignis gives as concise a statement as he can manage, aware it sounds ridiculous. Gladio believes him, however, and that carries a lot of weight. Once it’s over, Gladio steers him toward the canteen for coffee. Ignis isn’t sure he couldn’t use something stronger, but he’ll certainly take the offered caffeine.

“What did he say to you?” Gladio asks again. “Tell me again, word for word.”

Ignis takes a sip of coffee. It’s too hot, but it’s something to focus on besides the horrible swarm of angry butterflies still roiling in his stomach.

“Not much. He started by asking if I was lonely. Then something along the lines of ‘It’s you who’s left your prince, not the other way around.’ Followed by ‘I’d hate to think you’d forgotten about me the way you’ve forgotten about your king.’ That’s really about it.”

Gladio sips his own coffee, considering. “Well, we all know he likes to get in people’s heads. He was probably just messing with you. Wish I knew _why_. I mean, aside from being his usual asshole self. I swear he just likes to set fires to watch ‘em burn.”

“Probably,” Ignis agrees. Shivering, he rubs his own arms. “How long do I have to wait until this stage is over?”

He can’t see Gladio’s sympathetic smile, but he can hear it. “Dunno. It’s different for everybody. You need a hug?”

“Yes, but not here.” Not in front of all and sundry.

“Okay.” Glado reaches and rubs his shoulder, and that’s nearly as good. “You wanna call it a day? Quit early?”

Ignis shakes his head. “No, no I’ve too much to do.”

“You want some help?”

“You’ve got your own things to oversee, I can’t take you away from--”

“ _Iggy._ ” Gladio cuts him off. “You want some help?”

With a sigh, Ignis lowers his head. “Yes.”

Gladio squeezes his shoulder. “Okay then.”

\--

Gladio has Ignis bring a stack of papers down to his office. He and Prompto are both installed as ad hoc support to the Lestallum security force. All the MTs and displaced Crownsguard and Kingsglaives are under their command, and it makes more sense for them to work together. The office is larger than Ignis’, more than big enough for all three of them. It’s calming to know Gladio is on one side, Prompto on the other. The afternoon passes without fuss.

“You should stay down here,” Gladio announces as they wrap up for the day. “More room.”

Ignis does not argue, just asks Bob to relocate everything. No doubt someone else can make better use of his little office.

It’s a little like old times, except for the hole left by Noctis’ absence. Noctis _is_ coming back. But when he does… Ignis shivers again and pushes the thought away. No. No, he can’t think about that now.

“Iggy?”

“I’m alright, Prompto.”

“The hell you are,” Gladio challenges gently. “C’mon, it’s just us.”

It is. The three of them have retreated to their hotel room. Ravus is elsewhere- presumably with Luna- and has not yet come to join them. Ignis chews his lip, trying to decide how much he wants to disclose. The three of them have been in close quarters since they were children. There aren’t many secrets between them, if any. Still, some things are just too personal.

Prompto rests a hand on his arm, Gladio one on his shoulder. Reaching, Ignis takes their hands in his.

“I keep going round in circles in my head,” he admits. “I want Noctis to return. But when he does...how much longer will he be with us?”

“Damn, Iggy,” Prompto says and squeezes his hand.

Gladio sighs. “Yeah, that’s the garula in the room alright.”

“Thought that was you,” Prompto teases.

Gladio flips Prompto’s hair with his free hand. “Ha-ha.”

Ignis smiles, but the moment is short-lived. They sit grave and silent, unsure what to say.

“What will we do without him?”

Noctis will likely be the last king of Lucis. Ignis cannot remain regent forever. Unless Noctis and Luna come up with an heir, they may well be the last gasp of the monarchy for both nations. Ravus, as a man, is not eligible to inherit the throne of Tenebrae- not that there’s much left of either nation to rule. Perhaps no one will bother with monarchy once the Light has returned. Ignis wouldn’t blame people if they’ve had their fill of that.

“Ignis, that’s a long way off…” Gladio begins.

“Is it?” Ignis asks quietly. “I…” He swallows, steels himself. “I can’t picture myself outliving Noctis.”

“Mmm…” Prompt hums in sad agreement. “I get it. I was built expressly to serve Noctis. You guys were trained to serve him since you were kids. If he’s not around...what do we _do?_ ”

Of course there are other things they can do, but these seem remote and unlikely. All three of their lives are so deeply intertwined with Noctis’, it is impossible to imagine a world where he does not exist.

“Got each other, I guess,” Gladio says into the silence. Provided they live to see the other side of all this. Ignis isn’t sure he wants to. He dares not disclose this, it will only alarm the others.

A hearty sniff draws his attention to his right. He can just make out Prompto lifting an arm to wipe at his face. “Man this sucks! I don’t want Noct to die! It’s not fair!”

Any one of them would gladly trade places with Noctis, but they were not chosen by the Astrals. Their blood alone would not be enough.

“It is unfair. But what can we do?”

No one has an answer to that.

On that cheery note, it’s late and they should all try to sleep. Ignis doesn’t see how, but he can at least lie close to Gladio and know he’s not alone. He’s only just settled when there’s shuffling across the carpet. The steps are nowhere near heavy enough to be Ravus, which means…

“Um. Room for one more?” Prompto asks, voice small and hesitant.

There isn’t, but there’s not much to Prompto. Ignis and Gladio scoot over as much as they can and Prompto gets comfortable on the remaining few inches of mattress. It’s a tight fit, but that’s alright. No one wants to be alone just now.


	14. Lights Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is left in the dark.

Ravus may not be the most observant creature ever to walk the breadth of Eos, but he likes to think he knows when to take a hint. The Lucians all crammed together on a bed only meant for two hits him between the eyes. He’d known this might be awkward. He had not expected it to be _this_ awkward. One thing he is not is vain, and it occurs to Ravus that Ignis has been through a lot. They all have. It is only natural for the Lucians to gravitate toward each other. With a sigh, Ravus gathers his things and goes out into the hall.

Lunafreya’s room has a living area with a sofa. It’s too short by half, but it will do. No one will fuss at him for staying with his sister, and anyone who suspects him of unsavory designs toward Iris deserves the punch in the face he will give them without hesitation. Let like remain with like. The Lucians do not want or need him getting in the way, and he will not make things any more difficult for them than they strictly needed to be.

\--

Now that Luna is here, the city becomes even more crowded. Aside from the locals, people come from all over to seek her healing touch. She stands all day, hours on end, blessing and laying hands on those afflicted by starscourge. Iris stands at her side, acting as both aide and bodyguard. Not that the crowds of ill and injured are likely to cause much damage, but Luna is all that stands between her hapless subjects and death, and so she pushes herself. Iris is there to make sure Luna doesn’t overdo it, more than she is to beat back any over-enthusiastic fans.

It doesn’t _look_ like a difficult job, but the mechanics of magic are largely unknown to the general public. Few have any idea how exhausting healing a non-stop line of afflicted people can be. The warm climate and hot sun of Duscae add an extra degree of difficulty.

Winter is late, brief, and mild in Duscae, mainly consisting of a few weeks each year that have been dubbed the ‘rainy season’. The gathering clouds overhead and the dimming of the sun is not entirely unexpected. Anticipating a cloudburst, those in charge of crowd control try to urge everyone to shelter. No rain drops fall. Instead, Iris has to lunge to catch Luna as she waivers where she stands. No one sees her fall. Everything’s gone dark.

A shriek goes up, followed by several more. Some of the light-sensitive street lamps flicker to life, staving off some of the panic. The crowd surges and shifts, confused and terrified. All over the city- indeed, the world- people stop, look up, and swallow back a sudden sense of dread.

Indoors, Ignis’, Gladio’s, and Prompto’s phones all go off at once. Ignis is first to pull his out and thumb the lock screen. His phone speaks the message in stilted syllables: “From Chick-ab-zero-zero. Luna fainted. Sun gone. Help.”

Gladio’s already rushed past, leaving only a swirl of displaced papers in his wake. Prompto takes Ignis’ arm and the two of them hurry after him. Outside, the little sliver of daylight left to Ignis vanishes. It’s only 10am and yet the sun is gone.

“Oh shit,” Prompto breathes. “Okay stay calm. We’re probably gonna have to say something to keep everyone from freaking out.”

Ignis did not plan on giving a speech today, but if that’s what it takes…

“How bad?” he asks.

“I dunno, most of the street lights haven’t come on yet. There’s people everywhere, but nothing’s on fire yet.” The patter of keyboard sound effects suggests Prompto is madly texting someone. “I’ve alerted Holly, though she probably already knows.”

“I advise lockdown for the time being,” Ignis says, feeling his Chancellor Brain boot up and grind to action. “Keep everyone off the streets and in their homes. Deploy the MTs and local troops but only as crowd control. No riot gear, no weapons. Have Holly prepare a statement. I’ll call her myself once we know a bit more.”

“Okay.” Prompto types frantically and then grabs Ignis’ elbow again. It isn’t far to the storefront that Luna has commandeered. Someone’s had the good sense to bar the doors and post a guard; Prompto and Ignis are forced to stop and flash their IDs before they’re admitted.

“Princess!” Prompto drops his hand, leaving Ignis to feel his way forward on his own.

“Someone please tell me what’s happened?”

“Iggy!” That’s Iris, her voice strained but steady. “It’s Luna, she just fainted! She’s breathing and everything, I just can’t get her to wake up.”

“She didn’t hit anything on the way down,” Gladio’s voice, all business, confirms. “No bumps or bruises that I can see. Her pulse is a little sluggish and she feels cold. Lousy skin snap. I’m a physical therapist, not a doctor, but I’d guess low blood sugar and not nearly enough sleep. Anybody got an elixir? All I got on me are potions.”

Ignis casts back- in his brain, in the Armiger- trying to remember if… No, there’s nothing there that’s helpful. Their last fight with Izunia did a number on their stores. Indeed, it might have been his own broken leg in Tenebrae that had used up their last elixir.

“I’m on it,” Prompto volunteers. The door swings shut behind him and silence descends- or nearly so. There’s sotto muttering that Ignis hadn’t noticed before. The voice is low, male, familiar…

“Lunafreya? Sister, can you hear me?”

Obviously Ravus would have been the first person to be notified. Ignis shakes himself and turns away, heading for a more distant part of the room. He can do no good here. He needs to coordinate with the mayor and figure out what to do.

It takes a moment for Mayor Teulle to pick up, and Ignis hastily relays Luna’s condition. Holly is alarmed, but maintains her composure. She will make an address as soon as she can get in the same room as some recording equipment. Outside, he can hear the heavy buzz of the street lamps as they come to life. There is a collective sigh of relief from the crowd beyond the doors. The sun may be gone, but at least they’re no longer completely in the dark.

The loudspeakers crackle to life and a moment later, Mayor Teulle’s voice can be heard addressing the citizens of Lestallum. Since he’s not going to be much help in here, Ignis pushes the door open to go outside and listen, and is nearly bowled over by Prompto.

“Sorry, Iggy!”

Ignis waves him off and edges out the door.

“Citizens of Lestallum,” the Mayor’s voice echoes off the brick and concrete of the city. “I appreciate your calm and cooperation. Please continue to keep your composure. Because of the power plant, we have light, electricity, and energy. You are safe from daemon attack so long as you remain inside the city walls.

“I have received word from Lord Scientia, Regent of Lucis that her Royal Highness the Oracle Lunafreya has collapsed. She’s unhurt, but she is exhausted. We believe that because her Majesty has overtaxed herself, she was unable to hold the darkness at bay as well as minister to those who seek her healing touch. There is every reason to believe that once her Majesty has recovered her strength the sun will return.

“As a safety precaution, I ask that you remain indoors as much as possible. I also strongly advise against venturing out of the city itself. Extra patrols of guardsmen will be making the rounds to ensure public safety. Emergency lights will remain online until the sun returns.

“I thank you for your cooperation and your patience.”

The microphone cuts with an electronic rasp, and Ignis turns to go back inside. Hopefully everyone will follow her advice. Sweeping his stick across the carpet, Ignis makes his way back toward where Luna has fallen.

“How is she?”

“Still down for the count,” Gladio confirms. “She’s fine, just out cold. A couple of elixirs aren’t gonna do it. You remember how Noct could get after a training session.”

Yes, he does. Noctis spent most of his downtime deep, dead asleep. Lunafreya probably has greater magic reserves than Noctis, and will therefore probably take a little while to recharge. Ignis absently hopes the public won’t get too antsy while she recovers. Things are likely to be rather awkward until she does.

A huge, lumpy shape shifts and rises, suddenly doubling in size. It takes Ignis a moment to puzzle out the silhouette of movement: Ravus lifting his sister in his arms like a bride.

“Is there a back way out of here?” he asks. “It would be best if we could get her back to the Leville unseen.”

“This way,” Iris says, heading toward the rear of the building. Gladio and Prompto flit into visibility as they move to follow.

“Prompto, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Huh, oh sure, Iggy. What’s up?”

“If you could escort me to the Mayor’s office? I have a few other things to discuss.”

\--

The city is in lockdown for three days. That’s how long it takes for the sun to come back. It’s also how long it takes for Luna to awake for more than five minutes. Everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief. This, however, poses a new problem. Clearly Luna cannot keep conducting business as she has been. A triage system is put in place, and her hours of ministry are limited. She is angry at first; indignant, but sees the sense in this. She is the only thing standing between Eos and eternal darkness. Without Luna, what will become of everyone?

“This is ridiculous,” Lunafreya insists. “Really, I’m perfectly well. I ought to at least...I don’t know, stand on the balcony and wave to let people know I’m alright.”

“The sun is out, the people know you’re fine,” Ravus tells her, unmoved. “When you can stand up without blacking out, we will discuss it.”

“I can stand up!” She does so, to prove her point, and almost immediately collapses back onto the bed. Happily, the sunlight does not so much as flicker, but Lunafreya has both hands over her face, clearly rethinking her actions. Ravus is at her side in an instant. Easing a hand behind her back, he helps her sit up.

“You aren’t fully recovered yet. Save your strength. Rest and get well now so that you can minister to your people later.”

Lunafreya grudgingly allows him to tuck her in again. She isn’t happy about it, but she also sees the sense in what he says.

“I wish I could help you,” Ravus says for what must be the thousandth time.

“You do help me,” she returns with a smile. Ravus tries to mimic it, but without much success. He hasn’t got the blessing of the Astrals and is not the Chosen King, and he feels so bloody _useless_. The blood of Oracles flows through his veins, for all he is a man. Surely that must count for _something?_

Right?

\--

If the Lucians have noticed that Ravus has moved out of their room, they say nothing. The Leville is still beyond crowded, so Lunafreya and Iris make space for him. It’s a bit awkward, but he’s royal and the Oracle’s brother, so no one says anything. Ravus himself feels it’s pushing the bounds of propriety a hair, but Lunafreya is his sister and Iris is a child. There truly isn’t anything to fuss over.

Lunafreya looks at him askance once or twice, even opens her mouth to say something, but the words never come. Perhaps she realizes it’s not worth asking why he didn’t stay with the Lucians. Ignis is there, and it would be awkward indeed to have to keep such close quarters to the man who had rebuffed his affections. Indeed, it goes deeper than that. Ravus can’t help replaying the phone call in his mind. Ignis had not known. Like Lunafreya, it had not immediately occurred to Ingis that he would be next in the chain of command. He had refused Ravus for other reasons, personal reasons, that had nothing to do with being regent. Ravus cannot decide if this makes his rejection better or worse?

There are other instances that nag him during the small hours of the night when he cannot sleep- which is far more often than Ravus would care to admit. The fight with the MTs when he channeled lightning through his prosthetic arm. The plastic bits are black and slightly misshapen from so much electricity coursing through it. He’s slightly amazed it works at all.

Ravus contemplates the intricate joints of the wrist and fingers, watching the light play off the metal. He’d cast a spell; out of instinct, out of panic, but for an instant he had held magic in his fingertips. Ignis theorizes that there has been magic in Ravus’ blood all along, he simply does not know how to use it. If only he could transfer his own power to his sister. It is useless to him, and she needs it more.

There is only one person he can think to ask for help, and it twists his guts just thinking about it. Still, this is his little sister. How can he face himself if he has not exhausted every opportunity to aid and protect her? He can’t. So he will simply have to gird himself with bravado and ask. That’s all there is to it.

\--

Reality, of course, is a bit more nuanced. This isn’t the sort of thing he can send in a text, or in a message via young Talcott. Going down to the office Ignis shares with Gladio and Prompto feels oddly like approaching a lion’s den. In the end, he sends an introductory text. As much as he’d rather avoid it, this is something best inquired about in person.

Ignis’ brows crease as his phone reads off the message:

“From Purpleprose: Did you bring any books from Tenebrae? Something I need to discuss.”

Both Gladio and Prompto turn to look at him. They aren’t angry with Ravus, necessarily. Rather, they’ve become- in Ignis’ opinion- needlessly over-protective. Ignis sometimes wishes he had his own office space. This is one of those moments.

“To Purpleprose. Yes, I did. Anything in particular? Please let me know when you’re free.”

Gladio and Prompto are still looking at him. No one’s typing and he can feel their eyes on him.

“Have you anything to add?” he asks them.

There’s a flicker of movement and flurry of shuffling papers as they both return to their tasks. When his phone buzzes a second time, Ignis excuses himself and takes the message in the hall. It’s better than having them listen in on every blessed detail, even if it is strictly business.

\--

Ignis finds his way to Ravus’ office- another small room in the power plant admin building- and knocks on the open door. There’s a shift of fabric and a flash of movement as Ravus stands to greet him.

“Lord Scientia,” Ravus says and Ignis valiantly manages not to flinch. They’d agreed to professional distance, hadn’t they? “Thank you for answering my request.”

“My pleasure, your Highness. How may I be of help?”

“I need to do some research regarding magic.”

Ignis cocks his head, confused. Ravus continues.

“Remember when I struck down the MTs with a bolt of lightning?”

“I do, yes. Quite impressive.”

“I’ve not been able to do it since, but that is not what concerns me. I personally have no use for magic. My sister, however, is still sadly depleted. Is there a way to transfer magical power from one person to another?”

Behind his sunglasses, Ignis blinks. It’s an ingenious idea, but he has no idea if it’s feasible or not. He reaches back into his memory; mentally paging through the many thick books he’d smuggled to Noctis. Unable to walk or wield a weapon, magic had been the only offensive left to Noctis. As such, he’d studied as much as he could, and Ignis had helped.

“I’m afraid I didn’t bring any volumes that would be helpful. There were some in the Citadel, but they’ve likely been burned to ash. It certainly sounds as if it should be possible…” He trails off, thinking.

“It’s possible to draw elemental magic from rune stones and other sources, both natural and man made. I should think it might be possible for her Royal Highness to draw magical power from you the same way.”

“Very well,” Ravus says. “It’s worth a try.”

\--

Lunafreya has never drawn magic before. She’s never had to; her power comes from the Astrals. Ignis does his best to explain, aware that he’s probably not doing a very good job.

“Alright, let’s back up a bit,” he suggests. “Can you tell the difference between Ravus and myself magically? Can you sense the difference in our energy?”

There is a pause as Lunafreya tries to pick them apart by their energy alone.

“Oh that’s interesting,” she remarks. “There’s a little bit of magic still clinging to you. I imagine that’s left over from the ring of the Lucii. Ravus, however, is difficult to miss. I’m not sure why I never noticed before.”

“Well, you’ve never had to look outside yourself for magic. Now then, you see the source of magic.”

“Yes.”

“Stretch out your hand and try to pull it into yourself. You are a conduit for the Astral’s power; this is no different.”

“Is there a way I can offer it to her?” Ravus asks.

Ignis shrugs. “I’m afraid I only know how inanimate draws work.”

“I don’t think I’m doing it quite right.” There’s frustration in Luna’s voice.

“You can do it,” Ravus encourages her, reaching to take her hand. “I believe in you.”

Even Ignis can see it, the sudden arc of power sparkling along the outline of Ravus’ arm and into Lunafreya’s in a ripple of brilliant electricity. She shouts and shakes out her hand, dancing back a few steps.

“I’m sorry!”

“No, no, it’s fine! Really! I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere!” Ignis beams.

Something like this, however, can not be learned in a single afternoon. It will take both of them time and practice, but at least Ravus and Luna seem to have the gist of it. Ravus, it turns out, is quite the walking battery of raw, untapped power. Luna can only draw so much off him at a time. Apparently she has to...metabolize? Filter? Process? Either way, she’s got to absorb his energy slowly in order to make use of it herself. Perhaps this is something that will sort itself out with time. Ignis supposes they’ll find out eventually.

The men leave the ladies to rest. Luna still isn’t 100% yet, and she can only afford to recuperate for so long. She needs all the time they can allow her.

“Thank you,” Ravus says sincerely. “I appreciate your expertise.”

“Hardly that, Highness,” Ignis demurs. “I am happy to assist.”

There is an awkward pause.

“I’d like to apologize,” Ravus begins. “About… If I had known about the formalities of you becoming Lord Regent, please know I never would have said anything.”

Ignis feels as if he’s had ice water dumped over his head. It takes him a moment to shake off the cold pins-and-needles and force his composure into place.

“Think nothing of it.” He’s pleased with the casualness of his own voice. “All in the past.”

“Yes.” Now it’s Ravus’ turn to feel cold and shivery. “All in the past.”


	15. Many Happy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Noctis’ birthday, but Noctis isn’t there.

August comes, and with it Noctis’ birthday. Noctis himself, however, does not appear. A routine check with the guard posted in Zegnautus Keep confirms no change. The crystal is still a solid chunk of rock and Noctis has not emerged. Ignis promises supplies and replacement troops for those currently stationed there before ending the call.

The longer Noctis remains in the crystal, the longer he’ll live. They all miss him, but at least he’s safe. Yet Eos needs him. Even with Ravus’ help, Luna can only hold back the darkness for so long. They’ve had no additional disasters, but the days are steadily growing shorter and shorter.

A cake seems in poor taste, but Ignis feels they ought to mark the occasion somehow. There’s always those little tarts Noctis loves. Ignis has never quite managed to replicate the them. He’s not sure what he’s doing wrong, or what’s missing. The pastry he has down, of that he’s certain. It’s the custard filling that continues to elude him. There are Tenebraens aplenty in Duscae now, surely one of them will know the secret.

One of them finds him puttering about in the break room kitchen.

“Oh, excuse me.”

Ignis looks up sharply- partly because he’d thought he was alone, and partly because he had not anticipated hearing the voice.

“Your Highness. What can I do for you?”

“Not a thing. I only came down to make some tea. Shall I make you a cup as well?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘no’,” Ignis demurs, and turns back to his pastry. He could do this part with his eyes closed even before he lost his sight. The movements are familiar to his hands, and he can gauge the readiness of the dough with his fingers better than he could his eyes.

“May I ask what you’re making?”

“I believe it translates to ‘Memory Lane’ pastries. Are you familiar with them?”

There’s a brief clatter as Ravus puts the kettle on. There’s a hot pot on the other side of the kitchen, but either he hasn’t noticed, or is a purist like Ignis. Possibly both.

“Oh yes. Luna likes those. They’re a bit sweet for my taste. I prefer ulwaat berries.”

Ignis makes a mental note and goes on rolling pastry. He’ll be able to put it back in the refrigerator to chill once this bit is done, then he can focus on the custard.

“Okay Moogle,” he announces to get his phone’s attention. “Read recipe.”

The electronic voice begins to list the ingredients. The items necessary for making the pastry are listed first, and Ignis takes the time to wrap and place the dough in the refrigerator. He washes and dries his hands just in time for the phone to get to the ingredients for the custard. Ignis touches each item on the counter. Cream, eggs, vanilla, salt, sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and sherry.

“Our nanny, Maria, used to make them with raw sugar, not white,” Ravus comments. “I also remember her saying that a drop of essence of sylleblossom made all the difference.”

Ignis turns his head toward him out of reflex. “Really? Sylleblossom’s a strong flavor. It doesn’t overpower the custard?”

Ravus shakes his head. “I’m no cook, but she let me watch and help. She used to dissolve it in the sherry first, just a drop or two.”

“Of course! That’s it!” Ignis snaps his fingers as the mental light bulb goes off. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself! That explains the much more subtle flavor. Thank you, Rav-- er, your Highness.”

Ignis turns away and begins adding the ingredients to a pan on the stove top, hoping it will cover the heat rising from beneath his collar. It isn’t like him to make a verbal slip like that.

“My pleasure,” Ravus replies, lifting the bubbling kettle before it can truly start to sing. “Any preference for tea? I see...indeterminate black, indeterminate green, something in pink packets…”

“Top shelf, far left, hiding behind the extra paper cups and filters,” Ignis directs, not looking up.

There’s some shuffling as Ravus stretches for the indicated shelf. “Hello! Lucian Royal blend, and loose leaf no less! Wherever did you scavenge this little bit of contraband?”

Ignis smiles. “Been toting it around since we escaped. I’m usually more of an Ebony man, but there are some occasions that call for tea.”

“You have a refined palate, my friend.”

Ignis feels his cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you, your Highness.”

It’s still a little awkward, still a dance of unknown steps, but it feels like they’re slowly getting the hang of it. Ignis no longer has the desire to escape the room by the most decorously expedient method possible. Ravus doesn’t seem to be thinking each word over three times before he speaks it. This is...perhaps not nice, but doable. There may be a wall between them, but that doesn’t mean they can’t shout over it now and again.

“I don’t suppose we have any essence of sylleblossom?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. I’ll look.”

Ravus goes off in search of the item in question while their tea steeps. Ignis wonders if Ravus needs directions to the appropriate cupboard?

“Assorted little brown glass bottles… Peppermint, lemon, orange… Not that I expect to find essence of sylleblossom on just any shelf. I’m afraid I don’t see any.”

“I didn’t expect you would. Bring us the orange essence, will you? That will do nicely as a substitute.”

Ravus’ heavy steps draw nearer, and a moment later glass taps against Ignis’ knuckles. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.”

Ignis has to fight with the bottle a bit before he can pry the cap off. It’s a tin cap as opposed to the more commonly used plastic. The bottle must be old. Hopefully, the orange essence is still good. He holds the open bottle under his nose and coughs after the first inhale. Firstly, it’s strong. Secondly, it seems to have gone off, although that may just be the crust collected around the lip. Ignis finds a measuring spoon and carefully pours out a few drops. Ah, yes, good. The actual contents are fine. He adds it to the warming sherry and stirs.

“Can I ask you to wipe that off before putting the cap back on?” Ignis would ask as much of Noctis, and he doesn’t think Ravus will fuss about getting his hands dirty.

“Certainly.”

Ravus does as asked, and then puts the bottle back on the shelf. He returns to lean on the counter nearby.

“Tea’s ready. Yours is directly behind you on the table.”

“Thank you. I’ll get to it in a moment. I can’t turn my back on this right now.”

“How’s that go? A watched pot never boils, but an unwatched pot overboils?”

Ignis turns toward him and grins. “I’m not watching, am I?”

There’s a snort and coughing followed by choked laughter. “Your timing is as bad as your sense of humor,” Ravus wheezes.

“Are you alright?”

“Chose the wrong moment to try to swallow.”

“My apologies.”

Ravus sips his tea while Ignis stirs.

“Can I help you at all?”

“There’s not really anything that requires a second pair of hands. Stay and watch if you like.”

“As long as I’m not in the way.”

Ignis smirks. “I’ll tell you to move if you are.”

He stirs in the cream, sugar, and spices. He’s got to be careful he doesn’t boil the eggs as he adds them to the mixture. Hopefully it’s cool enough that won’t happen.

“You might fetch the baking tins. We’ll want to blind bake the crusts for the tarts.”

“...are you making a terrible pun?”

“Not intentionally.”

“Just checking.”

Ignis chuckles and sets the custard on a trivet and fetches the chilled dough. He gives Ravus the job of pressing it into the little cups in the baking tin. Ravus slides the filled tin into the oven and sets the timer. Ignis can finally sample his tea. It’s not as strong as he prefers, but still good.

For a moment they stand there, silent, neither quite sure what to say, or if they ought to say anything at all. Ravus lifts his mug for another sip, allowing Ignis to place him on the other side of the table. It strikes something inside him that Ravus should choose to keep such a literal distance, a physical boundary, even in so small a space. It’s courteous, gentlemanly, and Ignis hurries to sip his own tea before his mind can elaborate further.

 _Don’t ruin it,_ he scolds himself. _This is more than enough. Leave it be._

It’s harder to swallow than it should be. Setting his mug down, Ignis turns to clean up the counter a bit. He’s certain there must be flour and sugar dusted over everything.

“May I help?” Ravus asks.

“If you like. You wipe up the counter. I’ll wash the dishes.”

They work in silence until the timer dings.

“Do you want me to fill them?” Ravus asks, regarding the empty pastry shells.

“Oh I think we can both do this.” Ignis is already prepping a piping bag.

“Ah. Ingenious.” Ravus goes more low tech with only a spoon. Between the two of them, the tray is quickly finished and put back in the oven.

“Pity we didn’t have any essence of sylleblossom. Then again, the guest of honor isn’t here to critique the final outcome anyway.”

“You made these for Noctis.” There’s tenderness in Ravus’ voice, unexpected sympathy that makes Ignis turn his face away.

“They’re a favorite of his,” Ignis shrugs. “I could never get them quite right.”

“You’ll get your chance.”

He will. Ignis just can’t decide if he wants it or not.

\--

Perhaps it’s habit, or muscle memory, but Ignis prepares dinner for everyone as if he expects Noctis to walk through the door at any moment. It’s floating in the air all around them; somewhere in the back of everyone’s mind, they half expect Noctis to be present to blow out his candles. They eat late, partly because of their duties, and partly because they want to allow time for Noctis to arrive.

He doesn’t come.

Ignis is glad he’s only made the tarts, and not a cake. No one even suggests singing ‘Happy Birthday’. There are no gifts. Instead it’s Ravus who lifts his glass of wine and proposes a toast.

“To his Majesty King Noctis Lucis Caelum and his safe return.”

“To Noctis,” echoes across the table to the clinking of crystal. Ignis swallows hard, cannot speak the words himself. Indeed, the lump in his throat is so great, it’s difficult to swallow. He can’t decide if he’s grieved or touched. Despite his best attempts to shove aside his own personal feelings, Ravus keeps doing little things that prevent the warmth Ignis feels from completely freezing over. He fears he will always have a soft spot, a little corner of his heart devoted to the First Son of Tenebrae. They can’t be together, not like that, but that doesn’t mean they must live their lives apart.


	16. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some scars never properly heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowing a bit here from Egelantier. If you haven’t read her fabulous Ravus/Ignis fic, go now.  
> I’ll wait.

There is so much to do. So much to manage. There are- quite literally- not enough hours in the day in which to accomplish all that needs to be done. If not for the others, Ignis would probably never eat or sleep. Ignis, however, is the one who gets everyone out of bed in the morning. It doesn’t require the same amount of effort as rousing Noctis, but they’re all running on too much caffeine and too little sleep. Prompto is a morning person, but Gladio has a grouchy phase that lasts for about ten minutes, usually until he can get some fresh air to his brain and then he’s fine. Ordinarily, Ignis wakes up a few minutes before his alarm goes off. This morning, he sleeps through it.

It had taken him a long time to fall asleep the previous evening. He isn’t sure why. Nothing in particular had been bothering him, but he’d had a terrible time getting comfortable and then nodding off. It’s not until he feels someone gently shaking his shoulder and calling his name that he starts awake.

“Iggy? C’mon dude, wakey-wakey. You doin’ your Noctis impression?”

It actually takes him a minute to place the voice as Prompto’s. Ignis still goes through the motions of dragging his eyes open and squinting through the nothing for what little he can still see. This has caused him more than his fair share of migraines, but he’s grateful he still has a shadow of his vision left. This morning, however, the motion causes too much pain. His eyelids barely flutter before he turns to hide his face in the pillow; partly to escape the sliver of light that still penetrates the darkness, and partly to stifle the yelp it triggers.

“Iggy?” Gladio asks softly, laying a big, warm hand on Ignis’ back. “You okay?”

Ignis cannot reply. He feels as if someone’s cast Gravity on him, compressing him down into the mattress until his body is as thin and flat as the sheets. His skin tingles unpleasantly, bordering on burning, especially his left arm and his face. Gladio tries to lay the back of his hand against Ignis’ cheek, making him yelp and flinch a second time.

“Prom, kill the lights,” Gladio instructs. A moment later, the outside world becomes slightly more bearable. Ignis sighs in relief, body relaxing a little.

“Iggy, can you hear me? Can you move?”

“Yes,” Ignis rasps, letting gravity pull him from lying on his side to flat on his back. “I don’t feel well.”

Gladio strings about six different curse words together in a way that must be commended for its creativity. Ignis takes it to mean that the diagnosis is grim. Stiffly, he reaches with his right hand. Cool, slim fingers wrap around his. Prompto.

“Man, you must really feel like shit if you’re admitting it.” The remark is meant to tease, to lighten the mood, but Prompto’s voice is pinched with badly-masked nerves.

“My face hurts,” Ignis says. It sounds stupid in his own ears, but it is nonetheless true.

“Yeah I bet,” Gladio rumbles. Ignis can feel the reflected heat of Gladio’s hand hovering above his already burning skin. Mercifully, he does not touch. “Your scars...they’re all lit up with magic.”

“Oh.” This explains nothing, but it’s the most intelligent response Ignis has got right now. His brain is too busy furiously rerouting processing power, desperately trying to acknowledge the thousand-and-one signals of _PAIN_ coming in from what feels like every inch of his body.

“I think we’re gonna have to call in an expert on this. That okay with you?”

“Expert?” Ignis echoes, lost.

Prompto, however, has made the connection. “Princess Lunafreya.”

 _Queen,_ Ignis wants to correct, but it feels like too much effort. It takes a minute or two for what they’re suggesting to sink in. Wait, no. No, he doesn’t want her to see him like this.

“I’m fine. Really. I just need to rest.”

“Uh-huh.” Gladio is not impressed. “You’re not _wrong_ , but hell if I’m gonna leave you untreated.”

“No, please…” Ignis draws the sheet up with his right hand. The left is one giant mass of cramps, clenched uselessly against his chest. There are scars from the ring other places than his face and arms- nowhere indecorous, but still. Having Gladio or Prompto look is one thing. The Oracle and Queen of Tenebrae examining him is quite another.

“I don’t think she’ll need to do a full work-up,” Gladio soothes. “I know you and your modesty. I just...want her professional opinion on what to do. If you’re laid flat like this, it’s gotta be bad.”

Ignis sighs. “Alright.” He’s too miserable to argue.

\--

Luna doesn’t need him to undress, doesn’t even ask him to sit up. Her fingertips on his forehead lessen the blinding (if he wasn’t already, he would surely be now) pain as long as they linger there.

“Magical scars are a funny thing,” she muses. “Ravus actually has the same problem. Twice now he’s had debilitating phantom pain. The poor dear can barely move. He thinks it’s his punishment for daring to borrow power that was not his to use. I take a bit more practical view.

“It’s a scar like any other; tissue permanently damaged as if it had been burned by fire or hot water. There’s still energy trapped in the body, and it doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Gladio had been hoping for more, and it’s evident in his tone. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

Ignis can’t make out the shake of her head, that’s how bad it is. He can hear the rustle of her scarf, the chime of her jewelry as she moves.

“Not really. I can try to draw some of it off for him, now that I know how. I can’t guarantee it won’t hurt more. I’m not very good at it yet.”

She cradles his face in her hands, and he can’t help flinching at her touch. He tries to relax, tries to hold still, but the tingling has escalated well past the worst sunburn he’s ever had. It feels as if he’s standing in front of a blast furnace. His skin will blister off and ignite, incinerating into ash. She lets go. Ignis can only liken the feeling to dreaming of falling, and waking up in his own bed when he should have smashed to the ground. His body feels the drop and the impact that would surely follow, despite not having moved an inch. For a moment, he cannot breathe.

His friends’ words come to him, garbled and distant. It takes him a minute to recognize his own name.

“Iggy? _Iggy!_ ”

“Ignis?”

“Iggy, are you okay?”

“Fine,” is all he can manage.

“I’m sorry,” Luna apologises. “All we can really do is wait for it to be over.”

\--

Twenty-four hours. That’s how long Lunafreya anticipates this will last. Ignis privately thinks he might die before that. Prompto and Gladio had each offered to stay with him, but in this instance, Ignis prefers to suffer alone. There is nothing they can do, and being touched only makes his discomfort worse. They leave him in Bob’s capable hands, with strict instructions to contact them should Ignis worsen.

It does get worse. Despite Ignis’ insistence, Bob dials Prompto and Gladio somewhere around noon. Ignis is in too much agony to argue. He’s spent what feels like hours with his face pressed into the pillow, trying not to be too vocal about the magical residue burning him alive. 

Gladio and Prompto are at a loss. They have been trained to provide care, but this is beyond their knowledge, their experience. Their first instinct is to comfort, to try to cool him with ice or medication, to massage away the rictus of cramps brought on by pain, to hold him and try to put themselves between him and whatever is hurting him. Except touching only makes it worse. Luna was proof of that. They hover, awkward, useless, at his bedside until Ignis sends them away.

Eventually, he dismisses Bob as well. This is no doubt distressing him, and there’s no point in making him suffer too. Time becomes gelatinous, the minutes dragging on into an indeterminate eternity. Ignis is only aware of one thing: the searing heat crawling across his skin, burrowing down into muscle toward bone. If it reaches his marrow, Ignis is certain he will die.

He hovers on the precipice of his pain threshold, wishing he could freefall off the edge. His remaining senses have gone hazy around the edges; sound and scent seeming to come from miles away. Eventually, nerves numbed from so many hours of sustained torture, he drifts in a semi-conscious fog. Distantly, his brain notes the sweep of the door over the carpet and heavy steps coming around to where he lays. Gladio’s probably come to check on him again. Ignis doesn’t want the fuss, and so does not move, hoping he’s providing a half-convincing pantomime of sleep.

There’s a shift of fabric, a sense of mass and weight descending so that it’s closer to his level. It takes Ignis a minute to realize the smell is wrong. Gladio smells of warmth, old leather and cold steel, of outdoors and hard work. The figure in front of him gives off a subtle aroma that is altogether more refined. The steel and leather smell is still there, but softened by that of paper and ink, and the fragrant scent of soap.

“Lord Scientia…”

Ignis feels his breath catch. He had not wanted Luna to see him like this, he certainly does not want Ravus to witness him in such a state.

“Lunafreya mentioned you weren’t feeling well. That you suffer from the same affliction I do. I see you’ve come off far worse.”

Ravus may have lost his entire left arm, but Ignis’ scars are scattered all over his body. Searing patches that feel as if he’s had molten tar spattered across his bare skin. The internal heat of shame threatens to burn Ignis from the inside out. He’d curl more deeply into the bedclothes, but it hurts too much to move.

“I wish I knew what to do for you. The first time...Luna held me, and that helped a little. Made it bearable. I’m told that’s not the case for you.”

Ignis can’t decide if Ravus knows he’s awake and is addressing him, or if he’s just filling the silence? There’s a light touch to his hair. Thick fingers smooth back sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead, but never actually touch his skin. He expects it to hurt, expects the compounded warmth of simple body heat against his scars to explode like volcano fire.

It doesn’t.

There’s no aura of warmth this time. Ravus must be using his left hand. Edging his right hand from beneath the pillow, Ignis reaches as much as he can. Cold metal fingers enclose his own and Ignis allows himself a sigh. It’s a drop in the ocean, the coldness it’s own sort of pain, but it’s a blessed relief from the burning agony of the last few hours.

“Does that help?”

“Yes,” Ignis breathes.

“Then I am glad. I only wish I could do more.”

Instinctively, Ravus lays his other hand over Ignis’. Ignis inhales sharply.

“Oh good gods! I’m sorry!”

Ravus drops his hand at once- or tries to. Ignis will not let go.

“Ignis?”

Ignis had been expecting pain, but received the opposite. Like Luna’s fingertips, Ravus’ right hand had felt cool and soothing. Hardly enough to quench the flames bodily devouring him, but enough to make it bearable.

“Please,” Ignis mumbles, it hurts if he tries to stretch his face to speak. “Don’t let go.”

Ravus places his right hand back over their twined fingers. “I won’t.”

He doesn’t. Gladio and Prompto return to the room long after the sun has set to find Ravus sitting on the floor, seemingly asleep. His head and shoulders resting on the edge of the bed, fingers laced with Ignis’, and their foreheads pressed together. Ignis’ breathing is deep and even, body finally relaxed in the depths of a dead sleep.

“The fuck?” Gladio asks no one in particular. Ravus stirs at this.

“What? Oh! I just… Um…”

The Lucians have been very protective of Ignis, and Ravus suddenly feels as if he’s been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

“I only wanted to make sure he was alright.”

Gladio surveys the scene: Ignis asleep and no longer sobbing in pain, Ravus sitting weary and hollow-eyed on the floor.

“What’d you do?” he asks, genuinely curious. “This some sort of Oracle thing?”

Ravus shakes his head. “I’m no healer. I may possess magic, but I’ve never been able to use it.”

Prompto looks thoughtful as he gives Ignis a careful once-over. His scars are no longer glowing, and he’s only slightly warmer than usual to the touch. “You sure about that?”

Ravus turns and looks at Ignis as if seeing him for the first time. A male healer of the house Fleuret? Surely not. And yet...

“I don’t know...”

\--

They let Ignis sleep. He finally wakes somewhere on the other side of noon the following day. He’s groggy, and sore, and famished. They’d tried earlier to get him to eat, but he’d been in too much pain. The best they could do was try to keep him hydrated, and even that was a struggle.

Gladio helps him to the shower, and then massages the remaining tension out of Ignis’ cramped limbs. It takes over an hour to get his left arm to unclench. By the time he’s loose enough to move, he’s too exhausted to make the effort. Prompto brings him something light to start: tea, toast, and gelatin with bits of fruit suspended in it. Ignis must still feel like he’s been run over by a garula. He doesn’t protest about being fussed over, and seems content to return to bed once he’s clean and in a fresh T-shirt and track pants.

“I feel alright,” he says upon inquiry. “Just tired; like I’ve been out all day dungeon crawling with the two of you.”

“Did you know Ravus came to see you?” Prompto’s sitting next to him on the bed. Gladio’s perched on a chair on his other side. Neither of them want to drift too far from him.

Ignis nods. “I did, yes.”

“Thought you weren’t seeing him? Err...so to speak.”

Ignis snickers at the accidental- and rather terrible- joke. “We’re not courting, but not unfriendly. Would you prefer I not go near him?”

“What? Hey, no! We just… Um…” There’s a flicker of motion as Prompto scratches at the back of his head. “We kinda thought maybe you didn’t want him around? Like it was too weird or something? Guess maybe we overdid it a little.”

“There’s no need to chase him off at every opportunity.” Ignis pokes at the gelatin. It tastes of orange- the color, not the fruit- and has little bits of actual orange and pineapple in it. Ordinarily he’d find it too acidic, but perhaps his body needs the extra vitamin C. He’s certain cafeteria gelatin will never be this appealing again.

“Just because we aren’t dating doesn’t mean we must keep to opposite sides of the city.”

Gladio shifts in his seat. “Yeah, okay. We’re just… We want what’s best for you, yanno?” He pauses. “So...what happened? We came in and found the two of you passed out. Ravus looked like he went ten rounds with a behemoth, and you were out cold.”

Ignis rolls the fingers of his left hand over each other. There’s a thick scale of leathery tissue around his middle finger where the Ring of the Lucii had burned him. It had always felt a little warmer than the rest of him, all the scars had. Now, however, it’s cooler.

“I think…” Ignis begins slowly. “I think he drew off the magical residue for me.”

They both stare at him.

“You remember the incident with the lightning and the MTs?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if he stands no chance of being selected for service by the Astrals himself, Ravus carries the blood of the Oracle. I believe he has the aptitude for magic, but has never learned how to use it. I don’t think it occurred to anyone to train him.”

“I know you were trying to give him and Luna some lessons in that,” Prompto remembers. “You said it didn’t go well.”

“Her Royal Highness is unaccustomed to elemental magic,” Ignis’ reply is both gracious and respectful. “She’s still perfecting the technique. Ravus, oddly enough, seems to have done it on pure instinct.”

Gladio snorts, amused. “Damn. Imagine if he actually knew what he was doing.”

“Quite,” Ignis agrees. “We all helped tutor Noctis in the use of magic despite having no talent for it ourselves. Can I depend upon the two of you to assist his Highness the same way?”

“You can just say ‘Ravus’, Iggy.” There’s a warm smile behind Gladio’s words. “Nobody’s gonna come after you.”

Ignis takes a sip of tea to cover the heat creeping from beneath his collar, up his neck, and into his cheeks.

“Yeah, we’ll totally help,” Prompto agrees. “Just leave it to us.”


	17. A People Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MTs are people too.

It’s been a year. Noctis has not yet returned, and a standard day in Lestallum is roughly nine or ten hours of daylight. Hunter outposts in farther flung territories report as little eight, or even six hours of sunlight. The darkness is stealing upon them slowly yet surely.

However, the Oracle and Lord Regent have plans to keep it at bay. Ignis comes up with a three year plan, and then a five year plan just in case. He does not want to entertain the thought of a longer siege, but knows it’s a possibility. The sinister whisper of _ten years_ ghosts through his mind. He dares not banish it as impossible, and it chills him all the more.

The priorities are power, protection, and most importantly, food. As they lose the sun, workarounds must be invented. Sports stadiums are commandeered and their floodlights retrofitted for agriculture. A boom in UV lamps provides jobs for many of those resettled in Lestallum. Generators form another new cornerstone of the economy. Canned and dried goods are given more attention than they’ve had for decades. A fad for “vintage living” springs up, headed by a handful of antiquarians. Ignis invites them personally to come and have coffee. Their knowledge might be invaluable, and the in’s and out’s of life during the previous century had not been high on his list of things to study as a young man.

“You really think we’re gonna have to live without electricity?” Prompto asks. “Without the _internet?_ What about all the MTs?”

What, indeed?

“Would you like to come up with a contingency plan for them?”

“Only if you help me.”

Ignis smiles. “Of course.”

\--

The MTs have their own little village, after a sort. The drop ships left in the parking garage have become more like mobile homes. They don’t seem to mind being removed from the city proper. Perhaps they’re as wary of the citizens as the civilians are of them. Some of them seem content to go on as they have been; sleeping sitting up and recharging via generator instead of eating. Others, however, are more eager to embrace local culture and have taken to sleeping lying down in sleeping bags, attempting to cook, and trying to find ways to brave the sun without their hot, heavy armor.

“I know they’re all clones or brothers or whatever,” Gladio observes, “but they’re not actually cookie cutters of each other. There’s a lot of variation. Maybe it’s just like a mom who’s able to tell her own triplets apart, but I could totally pick any one of ‘em out of a crowd.”

According to Gladio and Prompto, there is more variation among the MTs than anyone had expected. Despite sharing his genetic code, not all of them are perfectly identical copies of Prompto. Some have straight hair instead of Prompto’s unruly waves. A few have blue or green eyes as opposed to the usual MT violet. (Prompto says this is due to their power source leaking into their bloodstream.) Some have freckles, others don’t. Prompto’s right-handed, but perhaps a fourth of the MT’s are lefties. And of course, each chooses to groom and dress themselves slightly differently from all of their fellows.

A rather endearing trend among the MTs is that of “Hello, my name is” stickers. Names had been a bit of a foreign concept to most of the MTs, but they’ve embraced their new titles with pride.

“You’re people,” Prompto’s told them over and over. “People have names.”

They are people now, not robots. They have names. They are individuals. They matter. And they are proud of this.

Ignis and Prompto discuss possibilities with them. The MTs already have their own generators, as well as the drop ships. They will not lack for electrical power, or food if they want it.

“You know...we should really work on moving them inside,” Prompto remarks in a tone that’s just a little _too_ off-handed. “Or better yet, just expand the city walls.”

“I agree.”

Ignis stumbles to a halt when Prompto stops short.

“Sorry. Er, you do? Really?”

“Absolutely. The MTs are invaluable as far as security is concerned. They are as much refugees as anyone else; all the more since they were treated the most harshly by the empire. Besides, we’ve all the Tenebraens and other immigrants to account for.”

There has been a veritable building frenzy in and around Lestallum. There are still more people in temporary housing than Ignis would like, but it can’t be helped.

“Does it need to be a solid wall?” Prompto asks. “We’re only trying to keep out daemons since the Empire isn’t an issue anymore. What about an electric fence? A string of lights to keep the daemons at bay. Everyone can feel safe without feeling hedged in.”

“A brilliant proposal,” Ignis says with all seriousness. “We should put in as much infrastructure as we can, as soon as we can.”

“You really think we’ll need all this?”

Ignis shrugs. “We need something with which to occupy all these people. Even if Noctis returns tomorrow, it won’t hurt to have put all of this in place.”

“You don’t believe he’s coming back tomorrow.”

For a long moment, Prompto’s accusation hangs unanswered.

“I want him to come back,” Ignis says quietly. “I want to hear his voice, feel his hand on my shoulder. However, once he does return, he will not be able to remain with us. Not for long. While we may lose the light, at least we can take selfish comfort in knowing he is safe.”

Prompto squeezes Ignis’ fingers with his other hand. “Yeah. Except we have all these other people to worry about.”

“It’s our job to keep things running smoothly in his absence. We can do that, can’t we?”

A little of Prompto’s habitual smile creeps back into his voice. “Yeah. We can.”

\--

They discuss it with the MTs first. Bob’s become a spokesman of sorts for them, as has Chris. Ignis wonders if they were captains, or commanders of their own units, but upon being asked, they shake their heads. Evidently there isn’t much in the way of hierarchy with MTs.

It seems they quite like the shelter from the sun that the parking garage provides. It allows them to go about without their armor, even in broad daylight. Ignis had thought they might like to have homes of their own closer to the citizenry, but they don’t seem interested. Not melting trumps having neighbors, and Ignis must concede that this is entirely logical. Instead, he suggests a request to commandeer the parking garage for the MTs, and to build them actual dwellings within it.

Bob shakes his head. “No thank you, Sir. Biliting is adequate. Er… We’re um...we’re fine here.”

“Are you quite sure?” Ignis presses. “You have enough room? The fumes from the vehicles doesn’t bother you?”

“We have enough room. The fumes are not offensive. We’re not as sensitive to olfactory input.”

“Smell aside, the fumes are toxic to humans, and each of you started out human.”

Bob shrugs. “It doesn’t bother us. We’re satisfied with our current arrangement.”

“There’s nothing that would improve it?”

Bob pauses to consider this. “Perhaps if I sought additional input? I could return with collected data.”

“Very well. We’re all in this together, and you boys deserve to be as comfortable as everyone else.”

Bob’s head lowers as his shoulders rise, a posture Ignis remembers Prompto exhibiting when pleased yet embarrassed.

“Thank you, Sir.”

In the end, they only ask for some additional sleeping bags, a generator, and some new weather curtains for the garage walls. Ignis is touched at the humbleness of the requests.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Yes Sir, we do not require any additional amenities,” Bob says. “We are… We are happy here.”

“I’m very glad to hear that. If you lack for anything, please let us know.”

“Sir.”

“You know,” Prompto says as he leads Ignis back toward town, “they’re not kids. They’re not helpless.”

“I know that. I just want to make sure they’re being treated fairly. If they weren’t MTs, they wouldn’t be living in a parking garage. It doesn’t seem fair or right.”

“They _are_ MTs,” Prompto reminds him. “They’re still human, but...but they’re from a different culture, and I don’t just mean Niflheim. This is really something for them. If you’d seen where they were stored, what they did…” He trails off and shivers.

“Prompto?” Ignis squeezes his arm in concern.

“Nothing.” Prompto’s voice is choked and quiet. “Just… It’s a process, you know? You remember how weird and awkward I was when I first met you. Let them get used to this much, then we can see about upgrades. Okay?”

Prompto hasn’t scolded him, but Ignis feels chastened nonetheless. He had only wanted to make sure that the MTs were safe and happy, to take care of them. That’s what he does, he takes care of people. Sometimes it’s hard to dial the instinct back. The MTs have a different standard of living from his own. Who is he to tell them it should change? So long as they are content, that’s all that matters.

“Okay.”


	18. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia and Tenebrae are both lost. Where then, can the boys make a place for themselves?

Ignis’ first twelve months of trial by fire as Lord Regent are over. He barely notices. It’s not as if anyone throws a party, or asks him to make a speech. He spends his one year anniversary trying to figure out where to go with new refugees, putting out a hundred little administrative fires, convincing the foreman in charge of building the electric fence that he has a deep, burning desire to get as much done as quickly as possible, drinking too much coffee, and wishing he could silence his phone.

Prompto comes to retrieve him, saving him from any additional incoming calls or emails. It isn’t often that Ignis will admit to having had enough, but he doesn’t think he could do any more today if he wanted to. He expects Prompto to lead the way back to their room in the Leville, but Prompto turns in a different direction at the first intersection.

“Are there plans I wasn’t aware of?”

“Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“This isn’t the way home.”

“Sure it is.”

“Prompto, you know perfectly well the Leville is in the other direction.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“There where are we going?”

He can hear the grin that must surely be spread across Prompto’s face. “Home.”

They only walk another two blocks before Prompto calls a halt.

“1017 Cliffside Avenue, third floor. It’s not much, but Holly pulled some strings and got us something in town.”

He takes Ignis’ hand and presses it against the brass plaque set into the brick. The numerals are full of curlicues, but easily legible. Right below is the mailbox, and to the right, the door itself.

“The lobby’s kinda small, maybe ten or twelve steps square. Stairs to the left, elevator to the right. Every second landing is a new floor, and there’s numbers on the wall if you lose count. There’s also a landline phone on the wall near the elevator.”

“Let’s take the stairs,” Ignis suggests.

“Okay. It’s…” Prompto pauses to count. “Looks like fifteen steps per flight.”

Ignis takes the rail with one hand and ascends, mentally counting as he goes. Prompto stops him once they reach the third floor.

“The door’s set back from the stairwell. Maybe twenty steps? I dunno, I got shorter legs.”

Ignis smiles, and counts off the paces until he’s stopped again.

“This’s us. Third floor, apartment A.”

There’s a metal number three and letter ‘A’ nailed to the door to match the brass plaque outside. Prompto opens it and stands aside so Ignis can enter. He crosses from hardwood to linoleum. The place smells of warm wood, old plaster, and furniture polish.

“So this’s the kitchen. It’s not like...huge, but it’s big enough we won’t trip over each other.”

Prompto gives him coordinates; the size and shape of the room, where oven, sink, and refrigerator are located. The living room is next, the floor hardwood like that of the hallway. Prompto warns him about the area rug, and gives the location of the couch, chairs, and end tables. 

“No coffee table?”

“Nah,” Prompto says with a wave of one hand. “Those things have it in for me. Always tryin’ to take a bite outta my shins.”

Ignis smiles. It’s not untrue, but he wonders if they’ve removed a potential trip hazard for him.

“Bathroom’s over here. We all gotta share. Aaaand back here are the bedrooms. We only got two, but we’re used to that, right?”

“Indeed we are.” He turns around once, allowing himself to glimpse the outlines of fixtures and furniture. “This is quite a gift.”

“Hey, we’re still paying rent.”

Ignis whips around at the new voice.

“Gladio!”

“Hey Iggy,” Gladio envelopes him in a hug and thumps him on the back. “Welcome home.”

“You did all this behind my back,” Ignis shakes his head in wonder, allowing a passing glimpse of the outlines of furniture.

“Technically, Holly did,” Prompto corrects. “And ‘behind your back’ is such a harsh phrase. We prefer to think of it as a surprise.”

“Well you certainly managed that!” Ignis laughs. “I don’t suppose anyone’s stocked the refrigerator?”

“C’mon Iggy, don’t insult us,” Gladio teases.

“In that case who would like to give me a hand with dinner?” He already knows he has two willing volunteers.

It’s a little disorganized, but they’re all cooking in a new space. No one really remembers where anything is, but that’s alright. Things get spilled, and wiped up. Nothing burns, unless you count a wooden spoon that got a little too close to the stove element. Mercifully, all it did was smolder a bit. Prompto insists the charred spot is small and not detrimental to the spoon’s function.

There’s just enough room squeeze a table and chairs into the kitchen. It only has two coordinating chairs, so Gladio brings an extra one from the living room. It’s a tight fit, but no one really minds. Perhaps they’ll push the table out to the living area later. There are drop leaves hanging on either side. They could have Iris and the Nox Fleurets over. They share green curry soup together, and let themselves relax a little. It’s almost like old times, when there were four of them, on the run from the Empire, yet somehow making a vacation out of it. It hurts, but it’s also nice to think about.

\--

None of them have many belongings- just what they’d packed in haste when they left Insomnia: three changes of clothes, socks, underwear, pajamas, a jacket each, and whatever small accessories and personal trinkets they could fit. Most of it has survived more or less intact, to finally be taken out of duffle bags and stored in the second-hand dressers and closets. The building is old, the closets so small they’re barely big enough to stand in, and have hooks on the walls instead of poles. That’s alright. Only Ignis has button-up shirts and trousers that require hanging. Iris would probably describe their bare-bones accommodations as “indoor camping”, but after living out of a tent and motel rooms, it feels an unbelievable extravagance to have a space they can call their own.

One bedroom is larger, and boasts a full bed, dresser, and miniscule closet. The second bedroom is smaller- or perhaps it’s just the curious “L” shape due to it having to accommodate space for the bathroom. There’s another tiny closet, a bureau and- inexplicably- a set of bunk beds. Ignis finds this far more amusing than he probably should.

“I call top bunk!” Prompto shouts. No one fights him for it. Ignis doesn’t want try to navigate the ladder, and Gladio isn’t sure he’d fit on the narrow twin mattress. He gets the full bed to himself- at least until someone has a nightmare. Ignis gets the lower bunk. He’s almost too tall for it, but it’s not uncomfortable. In a way, it’s a good compromise; Prompto is in the room with him, but they needn’t be directly in each other’s space. Besides, Ignis is past the clingy phase now- thank gods- and feels he might be able to rest easy here.

His sleep is undisturbed, eased by the sound of Prompto’s steady breathing. Morning brings a brief stab of panic when he can’t remember where he is. The bed is too small, too narrow, and his ankles catch on the ladder, sending him tumbling to the floor. Prompto almost falls out to join him.

“AHH! ARGENTUM REPORTING FOR-- _OW!_ ” There’s a painful _‘THUNK’_ as Prompto bolts upright and smacks his head on the ceiling.

“This may take some getting used to,” Ignis observes from his undignified sprawl on the floor. After a moment, they both burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity. Gladio comes in and wants to know what the hell’s happened. It takes them several minutes before they can recover their breath and explain.

Everything’s in a new spot. Despite Prompto’s directions, Ignis still whacks elbows and knees on door frames and counter corners. Ignis is vaguely worried he’s used toothpaste instead of gel to style his hair. Gladio assures him this is not the case.

Breakfast is another clatter of pots, pans, and knocking into each other. Nevermind. They’ll all learn their way around eventually. Ignis makes a note to try to find some time to orient himself. Prompto and Gladio will have the layout memorized in a day or two, but he’ll take slightly longer. Besides, he needs to get to know the oven, the sink, and the various quirks a rented kitchen often has.

On the walk to work, Ignis shakes off Prompto’s hand, insisting he wants to try to trace the route himself. Prompto walks alongside him instead, with Gladio trailing a few paces behind.

“It occurs to me to wonder if their majesties have been given new accommodations as well,” Ignis remarks, making the new turn toward the power plant.

“Holly thought it’d be safer for them to stay in place,” Gladio speaks up. “Gotta say, I agree. It’s easier to provide security for a hotel than to try to keep a local address a secret.”

Ignis has to agree with this. “True. We’ll have to invite everyone over once we’ve gotten things organized. Discreetly, of course.”

“Planning a dinner party already?” Prompto teases, bumping Ignis lightly with one elbow.

Gladio sounds amused. “Sounds good to me. Why not?”

Why not, indeed?


	19. Benched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s never fun having to stay behind.

They need more information than Luna and the Cosmogony can provide. Ignis has tried to reread it himself via his fingertips and it’s slow going. Also, it appears to be an entirely different syntax than what he’s used to. Very odd. In the end he gives up and asks one of the others to read it for him. Luna and Ravus can rattle off chapter and verse by heart. However, there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of specifics concerning the King of Light.

Luna’s still flipping through her battered copy, presumably scowling at this. “I had an Astral for a lady’s maid and can recite this wretched thing backwards, yet there’s nothing helpful.”

Umbra and Pryna flatten their ears and tuck their tails. Luna reaches to stroke each furry head. They’re familiars, but only dogs. They cannot be expected to know terribly much about this either.

“Where else could we find anything?” Iris asks. “Tenebrae’s library? Insomnia’s?”

“I tore the library apart while we were there,” Ravus says. “I found nothing.”

“I doubt there’s much of Insomnia’s library still standing. Remember how hard it was to sneak books for Noctis?” Ignis reminds them.

“Probably a pile of ash now,” Gladio agrees.

“Well what can’t they burn?” Iris huffs, as annoyed as the rest of them.

“Stone.”

Everyone turns to look at Prompto. “They can’t burn stone. Remember there was writing on the walls of some of the royal tombs? Not just the plaques, but like...other stuff. Pictures, murals, and what looked like some sort of script to me. What if we went back and looked?”

Everyone exchanges glances.

“I suppose it’s worth a try,” Luna hedges. “What’s the nearest royal tomb?”

“The Tomb of the Just,” Ignis replies.

“Well,” Gladio shrugs, “what have we got to lose?”

\--

There is something of a lively debate as to who will go exploring. Obviously, Ravus and Luna must stay here and continue their duties. This leaves the Lucians much in their original party formation with Iris standing as their fourth member. No one says anything. They want to, but they don’t. Ignis may not be any immediate help in this, but he sincerely doubts any of them know how to translate Old Solheim.

The drive is brief, as is the walk there. This is one tomb that’s known and preserved, despite a couple of grain silos having been built nearby. They encounter nothing worse than an exceptionally bumpy dirt road where they park the Regalia.

“Okay. So.” Prompto begins. “Some kind of weird swirly stuff over here. I dunno if it’s supposed to be some sort of floral motif or writing.” His camera clicks and whirs. Ignis follows the sound and reaches out a hand. The scrolling seems too large to be letters.

“I believe this may be purely decorative.”

“M’kay. There’s more over here.”

Ignis follows him around the barrow, feeling along the walls. Most of the obvious ornamentation is just that: ornamental. It’s not until they move to the sarcophagus itself that something pops up.

“Hey what’s that?”

“Have you found something?”

Fabric rustles as Prompto crouches to get a closer look at the base of the stone coffin. “Yep. Looks like an inscription of some sort. I didn’t notice it until the flash went off. I can’t read it, though.”

“I probably can. Could. Let me see.” Ignis crouches and runs his fingers over the stone. The granite is rough, and makes tracing the little trenches of the letters difficult. Difficult, but not impossible.

“Here lieth a just... I think that’s ‘Ruler’ but with a feminine syntax. Interesting. Something about her spirit standing guard until the Chosen King… Oh dear it’s rather rough. Perhaps Ravus can make sense of the photographs?”

\--

“I’m afraid I don’t remember much,” Ravus admits upon inquiry. “I haven’t tried to read Old Sol in quite a while.”

“If you can read it off, I can translate,” Ignis offers.

“Alright.” Ravus studies the photograph Prompto had taken and then reads the words. ‘Read’ is perhaps an understatement. He delivers the inscription as if giving the funerary rights himself.

“Nicely done, your Highness,” Ignis says, feeling it’s only appropriate to commend the oration. “If I could have it line by line, please.”

It takes a few tries, but eventually Ignis manages to make sense of the message. To everyone’s disappointment, it is not very much help.

“You know there’s more here,” Ravus observes. “Looks like some sort of astrological chart.”

“Oh?” Ignis cocks his head, curious.

“Looks like phases of the moon or sun. I can’t make sense of it. Perhaps it’s decorative.”

Ignis considers. “I think we need to gather more data.”

\--

There are thirteen tombs. They’ve been to all of them once already, but at the time no one had been terribly concerned with the artwork. Quite a few of them Ignis has seen himself. Some are more far afield than others, and some are more heavily guarded. They’ve already visited one of the easiest ones. There is a great deal of debate as to which one to visit next, as well as who will do the visiting.

In the end, they settle on the Tomb of the Mystic. It’s close, and while it’s tricky to access, there’s nothing especially threatening there. Not during the day, anyway. Ignis remembers the tomb being in rough shape, with several of the standing stones now lying in pieces on the ground. Still, they’ve got to verify whether or not there’s any useful information to be had.

“That’s settled,” Ignis says decisively. “When shall we leave?” Probably not for at least another two weeks. Everyone’s got to make space in their schedules.

“Iggy...” Gladio hedges, “I think maybe you better sit this one out.”

“Whatever for?” Ignis is genuinely bewildered. “I’ve been there before, the same as you. You know perfectly well I’m quite capable of finding my way around.”

“Yeah, but between the Archean and Niflheim, the path to the tomb was pretty well trashed. We’re probably gonna have to go rock climbing,” Prompto reminds him.

Oh. Well. That _would_ make it difficult. Difficult, but not impossible. “I don’t require perfectly flat terrain in order to navigate, thank you.”

“Yeah but I had to carry Noct around on my back for most of it, remember?” Gladio adds. “And that was with the trail intact. I mean, I guess I could piggyback you. You’re not any heavier than Noctis.”

“I assure you, that will _not_ be necessary. I’ll manage. Besides, I’m the only one who understands Old Solheim. Who else is going to translate anything we may find?”

There’s a brief flicker of movement as everyone exchanges glances.

“You can translate when we’ve brought the photographs back to you.” The voice belongs to Ravus. Ignis blinks in reflex. Although present, Ignis had not been expecting him to cast a vote in this. “I agree with Gladiolus and Prompto. It would be best if you were to remain here.”

Ignis stands, indignant. “I’m not an invalid! I can keep up!”

“No one’s suggesting you can’t,” Prompto says, gently tugging on his arm to try to get him to sit down again. Ignis shakes him off.

“Haven’t you indeed? Am I to be left behind on all further ventures? I’m aware I’m a liability, but I am not _useless!_ ”

Oh dear. That was his Outside Voice.

“Lord Scientia,” Ravus’ words are calm and even. “You are acting steward of Lucis; the Lord Regent. Should anything happen to you, we would have but one ruler remaining. Your people will have lost the only leader they have left.”

That brings him up short. Ignis feels his jaw move, but no words are immediately forthcoming.

“I am a nurse,” he manages at last. “A valet. Yes, I’m the son of a lord, but I’m hardly royalty. I will not be steward forever. Your safety is more important than mine.”

“I’m a prince of Tenebrae,” Ravus says, a tired, sarcastic edge to his voice. “I am worthless as a leader.”

“Your Highness, I beg to differ.”

“As do I. You belittle your own importance. Should I be wounded or killed, my sister alone would grieve for me. You are far more important to the people of Eos.”

Ignis sputters, caught somewhere between chagrin that Ravus thinks so much of him, and outrage that Ravus thinks so little of himself.

“You are a _prince!_ ”

“My sister is Oracle! I am a _man!_ ”

“You are still royalty! Your life is worth much more than mine!” He’s shouting now, they both are. Gladio and Prompto watch, wide-eyed.

“One life is not greater in value than another!”

“It is my duty to serve the crown! Of the two of us, only you’ve got one!”

“I NEVER HAVE AND I NEVER WILL!”

“YOU ARE STILL ROYALTY!”

Ravus makes a frustrated noise and throws up his hands. "HOW DO WE SPEAK THE SAME LANGUAGE AND YET NOT?"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

They stand, almost nose-to-nose, panting a bit from their shouting. Prompto’s awkward shifting shatters the moment.

“Um. Should we give you two some space?”

“ _NO!_ ”

The word is barked in unison. It takes them both a minute to recover.

“No,” Ignis breathes. “No, that will not be necessary.”

He finds his seat and sits down again. They’re right. They’re all right and he hates it. He doesn’t want to become useless, to be relegated to support staff. A weight descends next to him. Gladio is standing across the room with Prompto, so it can only be Ravus.

“Lunafreya will remain here to minister to the people. Does this make her less of a warrior?”

That’s a bit of a low blow in Ignis’ opinion. “No, of course not. She’s more urgently needed here.”

“Just as you are,” Ravus tells him gently. “There are other tombs, are there not? Others that would be more convenient for you access.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Gladio says, coming over. “It’s not like we want you stay behind for all of ‘em.”

Ignis nods, feeling chastened.

“I apologize,” he mutters. “I’m afraid my injury may have also damaged my good sense.”

There’s a brief spat of laughter at this.

“S’okay,” Prompto pats his shoulder. “No fair making you be the responsible adult all the time, right?”

Ignis smiles. “Somebody’s got to do it.

\--

In the end, Gladio, Prompto, Iris, and Ravus journey to the Disc of Cauthess and the Tomb of the Mystic. Lunafreya and Ignis will stay behind and mind the fort. He can’t help feeling disappointed as he sees them off. It may only be a small adventure, but it’s one he will have no part in.

 _Stop it,_ he scolds himself. _Her Majesty has to do this all the time. Don’t pout._ But it’s so very, very difficult.

Ignis isn’t surprised when someone comes to tell him to call it a day. He’d anticipated Bob, but the voice is entirely wrong.

“Lord Scientia?”

“Your Royal Highness!” Ignis nearly overturns his chair in his haste to stand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“My brother is gone and so are yours,” she says. “Come and dine with me?”

How can he refuse?

They have a table to themselves in a cozy corner of the Leville’s formal dining room. It’s crowded with customers, but they’re screened from view by velvet curtains. The C-shaped booth seems excessive for just the two of them. Everyone else ought to be crowded around onto the wide bench, but for now, it’s only himself and the Oracle. For once, Ignis finds himself at a loss for words. Then again, it’s not usually his job to provide conversation.

“I know they’ll be back tomorrow or the next day, but I miss them already,” Lunafreya remarks. Ignis nods, unable to come up with anything that doesn’t sound trite or petulant. The silence hangs; not necessarily awkward, but not comfortable either.

“It’s difficult, isn’t it,” she says softly. “To know you’ve got to stay behind and do your duty while everyone else goes out and has adventures.”

Ignis feels his head sink between his shoulders a bit. He starts as her hand comes to rest on his.

“Please don’t think I’m scolding you. I’m not. I only wanted you to know that I have felt- am feeling- the same things that you are. I wish to offer my solidarity, nothing more.”

Ignis forces a smile for her and squeezes her fingertips. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

Their food arrives then. Luna assumes Prompto’s job of telling him what’s where. There are some polite inquiries as to one another’s duties, and then it seems they’re out of things to say. Ignis feels he could improve upon the garula cutlets, and is trying to decide how best to accomplish this when Luna speaks up.

“Lord Scientia… Ignis. If I may, I had wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

“‘Luna’, please,” she insists. “We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

“If you insist.”

“Ignis, I realize this is perhaps a bit forward of me, but a queen’s first duty is to her subjects. All of her subjects. I’ve noticed one in particular has not been himself of late. I know my brother made his intentions known, and I know that you refused him, and I know why. Or rather, I thought I did. Is there a reason still that you continue to hold him at arm’s length?”

Ignis nearly drops his fork in surprise. Luna has always been tactfully direct, but this is almost brazenly honest. It is also none of her business. However, if Ravus is still mooning over him as Gladio had mentioned… Six, has he been pining all this time? It hadn’t seemed like it. Then again, he can’t exactly see it for himself, can he?

“My first duty is to my king,” Ignis replies, choosing his words with care. “I am very fond of your brother. Fond enough to spare him the pain of a messy conclusion to anything that might develop between us. I cannot afford distraction, and neither can he. If I have given some indication that I hold any inappropriate feelings toward him, please know that was not my intent.”

He gets the sense his answer has failed to impress her. She sighs dramatically, the leather of the seat exhaling in sympathy as she leans back. He is reasonably sure he hears her mutter a long suffering “ _Men._ ”

“Majesty?”

“Luna, please, I beg you.” She sighs again. “Forgive me, but is there some nuance of Lucian law that I’m missing? Are you required to remain single so long as you are in service?”

Ignis turns to look in her direction. It’s a reflex. He cannot search her expression for clues, but he tries anyway. This is forward indeed, bordering on rude- unless of course he’s misinterpreting her inquiries, but he doesn’t think he is.

“It’s not a requirement, no. However, it is traditional for a valet to be married to his work. My king demands my full devotion. To try to divide my attentions would be impossible.”

 

“I see,” she says, though it’s obvious she doesn’t. “You must forgive me. I realize this must sound scandalously rude. Perhaps it is a matter of culture. I know Tenebrae is more relaxed where matters of the heart are concerned, but you were raised Lucian.”

Ignis takes a few calming breaths. He isn’t angry, really, not at her, but he does wish that people would stop plaguing him with invasive personal questions. Admittedly, she’s concerned for her brother, so he’ll grant her some latitude. If she wants to know, he’ll tell her.

“Luna,” it’s a struggle to swallow back the ‘your Majesty’, “I appreciate your concern and I thank you for keeping an open mind. It isn’t prudishness that’s keeping me from acting on impulse.” Well, it is, but not entirely. “I know you are the absolute last person I should have to lecture on the importance of duty. Our lives are not our own. I could not enter into a relationship knowing I could give, at best, half my attention.”

He catches the swish of her ponytail as she nods. “I understand.”

They sit silent for a while. Luna orders dessert upon the waiter’s request. Ignis would have preferred to escape, but gets the feeling she has more to say. She does not make further comment until their sweets arrive.

“Noctis has a loyal friend in you.” Her words are soft, tired. “I envy the closeness that the four of you share. I had to leave my ladies behind, and I pray they are alive somewhere, though I have not yet had word from them.”

For some reason, he had not considered this. “I’m sorry, your Majesty. I’d no idea.”

She waves him off. “It’s neither your fault, nor your concern.”

Ignis pokes at his cake, unsure what to say to that.

“I fear this will come across as tasteless, yet it has weighed on my heart.”

Well now she’s got him curious. “Oh?”

“My strength is fading, my health has become fragile. I will do all I can to keep heart and faith until Noctis returns. When he does… Should neither of us survive…”

“Your Majesty!”

“If neither of us survives,” Luna presses, “can I ask you to look after Ravus?”

Ignis feels as if he’s been punched in the stomach, the wind knocked out of him.

“He will have no one. Just...see that he is not alone, that he does not grieve too heavily. That is all I ask.”

How can he possibly refuse? He nods, agreement following once he finds his voice.

“Alright. Luna.”


	20. Overnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an uninvited guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will guiltily confess to being super pumped to finally post this.
> 
> TW for invasions of personal space and general creepin'. Nothing graphic, nothing actually happens, but if it's not something you need to read today, feel free to pass by or come back later.

Ignis walks himself home. It’s safe enough inside the city. He’s not afraid of ruffians; indeed his walking stick grants him some protection that way. Evidently even muggers have standards. The walk home is uneventful, and Ignis clicks the lights on in the kitchen not simply out of habit. It’s nice to have that little crack of light showing through the endless dark. It isn’t much, but it’s reassuring in a way he cannot express.

He’s almost used to the kitchen now. There are a couple things he has to fumble for, has to stop and think where he put them last. And of course there’s always the possibility that Gladio or Prompto have inadvertently put something in the wrong spot. Without their help, it takes some extra time to put dinner together, but Ignis is in no rush. There’s no one to please but himself right now. He tunes the radio to the classical station for some background noise and gets to work.

It’s odd, being by himself like this. For so long he’s been living side-by-side with Gladio, Prompto, and Noctis. Even prior to their road trip adventure, they’d all been in close quarters. Upon assuming their official duties, all of them were given rooms near Noctis’ in the Citadel. Ignis’ bedroom had adjoined Noctis’ in case he should need something during the night. Lucky for Ignis, Noctis sleeps like the dead. Unless he’d undergone maintenance for his implants, Ignis could usually count on a full night’s sleep.

Then of course they’d escaped, ostensibly accompanying Noctis to his wedding. No ceremony had ever taken place, other obstacles having become much more pressing. Sleeping in the tent, caravans, and the occasional motel or hotel room had not granted them much personal space. No privacy, no secrets, just the four of them together. Then the Nox Fleurets had come, and things had gotten even more crowded. Not in a bad way, but certainly tight.

The little two-bedroom apartment feels too big for just himself. He’s also made far too much food. He scoops it into a plastic container for later. Gladio and Prompto will enjoy it once they get home. They haven’t been gone more than the day- have probably only just reached the Disc of Cauthess- but it feels like much longer.

Ignis cleans up as best he can, knowing he’s probably missed a spot or two and trying not to let it bother him. There are some podcasts he’s been meaning to listen to, and he queues them up on his phone before changing into his workout clothes. He does push-ups and sit-ups to think pieces and shows about cooking. It’s the sort of thing he used to do what feels like a lifetime ago, back before he lived out of a suitcase and spent more time driving a car than anything else.

He flops back onto the carpet to catch his breath. Has it only been a year? Well, slightly more than a year, but still. It feels more like three, or even five. He’s not the same person he was when he left the Citadel. None of them are. He thinks maybe that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

It’s nice to be able to take his time in the bathroom, to not have to worry about conserving enough hot water for two other people. He takes the opportunity to further remind himself where everything is in here. There’s enough space in the vanity for each of them to have their own drawer: Gladio at the top, himself in the middle, Prompto at the bottom. The logic is that Prompto is the shortest and hasn’t got to bend down so far.

After that, there’s nothing to do. Ignis sets his phone on a rung of the bunk bed ladder and queues up another podcast. This one is about Tenebrae, and some of the lesser known beauty spots and cultural sights a visitor ought to see. Ignis wonders how many of them still exist? Maybe not this one just before going to sleep. Maybe just some music instead.

“Okay Moogle, play ‘Mellow Music Playlist’.”

His phone dings and soothing orchestral replaces the chatter of the podcast host. Yes, much better. Ignis sets his glasses next to the phone and lays back to try to relax. He’s tired. It shouldn’t take much for him to fall asleep. Everything’s locked and bolted, everything’s completed and put away. He’s allowed to rest now if he wants. There’s nothing else that needs his attention.

\--

Ignis awakes with a start. His phone has gone silent, as has the rest of the house. Adrenaline still surges through him, and he listens, tensed, straining to discern what had awoken him. He doesn’t snore like Gladio or the Nox Fleurets, so it isn’t that. His dreams are an indistinct and unremarkable murky blur, so it isn’t nightmares. (Huzzah!) Around him, the old building shifts and sighs in its sleep. Water pipes buck in their braces, radiators bubble and fizz, vents hum softly as air goes in and out. If he stretches, he can just hear the neighbors on the opposite side of the wall coming and going across the wooden floor. They must have ordered a pizza. Ignis can smell the distant scent of cheese, tomato sauce, fresh bread, and spices.

Right. No threats detected. Perhaps it was a bout of sleep apnea after all? Then it hits him, wiping away the delicious aroma of Altisian food:

Blood and mildew.

Ignis freezes, every sense straining to detect another presence. He hears no footsteps, no rustle of fabric, but the stench is growing thicker, heavier. It’s all he can do not to gag. He summons a knife into his hand before he’s really thought about it. Izunia will not catch him unaware and unarmed.

Strong hands grip his shoulders, slam him down onto his back, knocking the wind out of him. Ignis thrashes, body responding almost automatically to moves practiced in secret again and again with the Crownsguard, with Gladio. Izunia’s taller, stronger, heavier. It isn’t easy to buck him off, but Ignis manages. Both of them go sprawling to the floor. His phone and glasses tumble off the ladder, but it’s a detail that goes unnoticed. Izunia’s let go. His stench is overpowering, yet Ignis cannot find him. Ignis turns, tosses his head, but cannot catch the chancellor's outline.

“Where are you?” Ignis growls. “Show yourself!”

All he gets in reply is mocking laughter.

Ignis has a knife in each hand now. “How did you get in here? What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” an oily voice says directly into his ear. Ignis jumps and lunges, intending to sever that ridiculous scarf, but his dagger slices through thin air. What--?

Hands seize his wrists and shove him against the wall. Ignis struggles, kicks, but it’s hard to breathe, Izunia’s reek is so heavy. Ignis can feel the countless layers of outlandish clothing and the solid body beneath pressing into him through his pajamas.

“What are you so afraid of?” Izunia purrs. “Have I ever laid a hand on you? Have I ever given you a reason to fear me?”

Ignis cannot breathe, cannot move. Izunia’s breath is like dragon smoke; hot and noxious. It’s like being trapped beneath a fallen timber in a burning building. Except Ignis would infinitely prefer a house fire right now.

“Come now, dear boy.”

A knee presses between Ignis’ legs. Reflex makes him inhale sharply, poison rushing into his lungs. But a switch has been flipped, a limit tripped. Magic crackles along his skin, light flashes, and Izunia gives an enraged shout. Ignis collapses to the floor, gagging for air and clutching his arms to his chest. Surely this is what sticking one’s finger into an electrical socket feels like. He takes a precious second to scramble to his feet, to ready his weapons, only to find the blood-and-mildew stink has vanished. A faint tang of ozone lingers; atmosphere displaced by magic.

Is Izunia still here? Had he dreamed the whole thing? Ignis decides he doesn’t especially want to find out. Dropping to his knees, he gropes for glasses and phone. He finds both just under the bed. So that much did happen. He places a shaky call with City Security, reporting what happened. To their credit, the officer who answers calmly takes his statement and tells him to await the arrival of a patrol team to inspect the apartment. Ignis hurries into some clothes, not really caring what he’s putting on or how. It isn’t easy to do up the buttons of his shirt, he’s shaking so bad.

The knock of the City Patrol unit makes him jump, but the electronic, over-measured cadence of the MT’s voice is oddly reassuring. It’s like hearing Prompto, yet not. This one introduces himself as “Steve”. He’s got a partner- Elliot- from the local precinct who asks most of the questions while Steve rigorously inspects the apartment.

“No signs of forced entry,” Steve reports. “Unable to locate any traces of suspect.”

And Steve would know. Ignis hadn’t thought it possible, but the MTs hate Izunia even more than he does. Despite Steve’s assessment, there is no way in hell Ignis is staying in the apartment by himself. Steve and Elliot escort him to the Leville and take their leave. Rather than book a room, Ignis collapses into one of the lobby chairs. Even at this hour, there’s a clerk at the desk, and people are coming and going. It’s safe. No one can assault him here without at least three other people as witnesses.

The clerk offers him a room, offers to contact Luna, but Ignis waves him off. Instead, he puts his headphones in and tries to calm down. There’s no music coming from his phone, it’s mostly so people will leave him alone. Besides, the white noise of customers checking in and out, the drone of the television turned too low to make out, and the still more distant muzak coming through the speakers is soothing. He lets his head fall back against the chair and closes his eyes.

\--

“Sir?”

Ignis jerks awake, daggers snapping into being in both hands.

“Sir! It’s Bob, Sir!”

Ignis feels as if he’s jumped high enough to touch the Leville lobby’s vaulted ceiling. It takes him a minute to come back down.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry…”

“Are you unwell, Sir?”

“Not as such.” But he’s shaking, there’s too much adrenaline coursing through him. A hand descends to touch his shoulder, light and hesitant. Ignis can’t help smiling a little at that. He pats Bob’s hand. Perhaps taking this as permission, Bob draws him into an awkward hug. Ignis freezes at first, but quickly melts and just holds on. 

“...thank you.”

“My privilege, Sir.”

\--

Bob stays by his side throughout the day. Ignis is privately grateful for this. The incident has left him more shaken than he’d care to admit. He doesn’t want or need Izunia popping up at all hours of the day and night. Even now, he’s not sure he didn’t dream it. Had he dreamed the first incident as well? He doesn’t think so, but it’s too easy to doubt himself.

He reports to Luna because it’s protocol, and because he honestly wants her opinion on this. They established back in Gralea that Izunia is...probably not 100% human. There’s something off about him, besides the more run-of-the-mill creepiness he exudes from every pore. The Nox Fleuret siblings have only had to suffer him on a handful of occasions. Of the two of them, Ignis knows more about the former chancellor, but Luna knows more about magical oddities. At least, that’s what Ignis is hoping.

He can’t see her nonplussed expression, but her ramrod posture says plenty by itself.

“Well,” she says at length. “I’m not entirely sure what to say. And this is the second time this has happened, correct?”

“Yes, your Maj-- er, Luna. He appeared in my office a few months ago. To be honest, I can’t help wondering if I imagined the whole thing.”

“You didn’t.” Her tone is so decisive, it makes him look up from his folded hands.

“You didn’t imagine it,” she repeats. “There’s foreign magic all over you. Also, I can see your scars burning.”

It’s his turn to stare blankly. “So...you can see his magic on me?”

“Yes, I’ve been practicing.” She sounds pleased with herself and Ignis can’t help but smile. “Most people have no magic outside of their own life force. It makes people like Noctis and my brother- and probably myself, though that’s not the sort of thing one can see in a mirror- glaringly obvious. Indeed, you stand out a bit yourself because of the scars the Ring of the Lucii left on you. The Ring’s residual magic is splattered across you like neon paint. Izunia’s magic is more like cigarette smoke clinging to your clothes; not immediately obvious, but difficult to ignore. Normally, the magic the Ring left in you is dormant, but I can tell something activated it. You’re not in pain, I hope?”

Ignis actually has to pause and consider that. To be honest, he’s been riding the raw edge of paranoia ever since the incident, and it’s hard to identify anything besides his barely contained nerves. If he thinks about it, his face and hands _do_ sting. The feeling is not dissimilar to a sunburn.

He shakes his head. “It’s negligible. Nothing worth bothering about. But why on Eos would my scars…” He trails off as memory flashes. The moment is brief, but visceral, painfully real. Izunia pinning him to the wall with his body and then- a flash of light, a burst of pain, the chancellor’s shout.

“He had me against the wall. I couldn’t think, I just knew I had to escape and…” He rubs the fingers of his left hand with his right. “I think… I think whatever magic the ring has left in me threw him off. It… It protected me.”

Perhaps it was a clash of magics, light versus dark, nothing more, but Ignis can’t help wondering.

Luna takes a sip of tea, mulling this over. “It isn’t impossible. The ring drains the life force of daemons, does it not?”

“Yes, it does.”

“You’ve nowhere near the skill nor the power to do that, but I could see where there might have been a sort of...static shock, if you will. Enough to surprise Chancellor Izunia and throw him off.”

Ignis nods. It’s as good an explanation as any. “I suppose. Still, I’d rather not repeat the experience.”

He can hear the kind smile in her words. “I don’t blame you. What concerns me, is why is he singling you out like this? He hasn’t appeared to the others, has he?”

Ignis shakes his head. “If he has, they haven’t told me, and I don’t think they would keep something like that a secret.”

“Then why is he only picking on you?”

Ignis taps the frames of his sunglasses. “Because I am the weakest of the team. Please don’t,” he says as she draws breath to protest. “I know I have my own strengths and virtues. The point is, Izunia’s thought process is not so nuanced. He knows all too well how to exploit the fears and insecurities of what he believes to be the weakest link. If nothing else, the man always made my skin crawl and it’s going to take more time and concentration than I’d like to spend to go on as usual. The damage he can do is limited. He’s a distraction, nothing more.”

“Even still, would you object to having a guard posted until the others return?”

Ignis has to admit that he wouldn’t. Now is not the time for wounded pride. “No, not at all.”


	21. Dinner Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis gives a cooking lesson.

Luna recommends an MT guard for the coming evening. It seems a bit excessive for just him, but the last thing Ignis wants to do is return to the empty apartment by himself. It galls him, but the incidents with Izunia have left him spooked. Luna gives Bob the orders herself. Perhaps sensing Ignis’ reservations, Bob makes a surprising suggestion:

“If you like, you may billet with us, Sir.”

This brings Luna up short, but Ignis smiles.

“Splendid! I should be glad to accept your hospitality. You’ll allow me to cook for you in return?”

Bob nods. “That would be most appreciated, Sir.”

Ignis knows what the MT accommodations are like, so he swings by the apartment with Bob in tow to pick up such things as he’ll need for an overnight stay: sleeping bag, pajamas, toiletries, a change of clothes, and so on. He solicits Bob’s opinion on what to eat- or tries to. Seems the concept of “favorites” is a bit foreign to him. Never mind. Something easy, then, and enough to feed as many members of Bob’s extended family as care to partake. They fill a shopping bag with ingredients and utensils, and they’re off.

Rather than dreading the coming night, Ignis finds himself quite looking forward to it. He could probably find his way to the parking garage unaided, but allows Bob he lead him. It’s a little like holding onto Prompto. He hopes rather fervently that everyone is safe.

\--

Ignis has been to the MT village many times before. However, he’s never been _in_ it the way Prompto has. It takes him a moment to orient to the shape of the camp. Drop ships are arranged in a loose box around an open center space that seems to function as a multi-purpose area. There are MTs out of armor setting up folding tables and chairs within it.

“Mess,” Bob explains. “We eat in shifts by platoon. Each cooks for themselves.”

“Shall we make a potluck out of it, then?” Ignis sets his duffle and sleeping bag down and reaches for the bag of groceries in Bob’s hand. “I’d hate for anyone to feel left out.”

“Potluck?” Bob echoes bewildered.

“A communal dining activity,” Ignis explains. “Each diner brings a dish to share with everyone else. Not enough to feed every single person, but enough that when combined with the other dishes the other diners have made, no one will go hungry.”

Bob nods thoughtfully. “Potluck. Yes. You cook your entre, and we will supplement it with our own food. Everyone will have something to eat.”

Ignis smiles. “That’s it!”

Ignis has no idea what’s on the menu for the MTs besides what he’s cooking. Spaghetti feels ever so slightly like a cop out, but it’s inexpensive and one of those dishes that will multiply in volume if you don’t keep an eye on it. Besides, the MTs probably all have a soldier’s sky-high metabolism and will no doubt be glad of the carbohydrates.

Bob leads him over to the kitchen area- more folding tables and a couple of sterno cookers like the set he uses when camping. The folding tables seem to be full of cans and packages wrapped in plastic. Heavy plastic. Ignis picks one up and examines it more closely. It feels lumpy; there are several smaller wrapped packages inside.

“Is this an MRE?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Ignis does his best to suppress a gawk of horror. “And the cans?”

“Soup. Vegetables. Meat.”

Oh good heavens. He wonders if this is by choice, some sort of dietary restriction, or because they simply don’t know anything different? Well, he’ll find out. Ignis is silently glad he thought to bring utensils, knives, and a cutting board, as none seem to be present. He finds a space free of pre-packaged food and sets up. It isn’t long before the MTs are gathered around to watch him, curious.

He dices onions, garlic, peppers, and mushrooms. Bob had mentioned having canned tomatoes, and that will suffice for this exercise. He dumps the vegetables into a pot and drizzles them with olive oil. His audience crowds closer as he sautees the foundation of the marinara sauce. Spices come next, followed by the canned crushed tomatoes.

“There is pre-prepared sauce,” one of the MTs remarks. “Is it not redundant to perform labor a second time?”

“Perhaps,” Ignis agrees. “I find it more economical, as well as more satisfying to assemble the ingredients myself. I think you may also find the taste is quite different.”

The last thing he wants to do is boss them around, but Ignis finds himself giving an impromptu cooking class to the MTs assigned to KP. They are eager students, observing intently and taking every word to heart. Ignis tries to step back a bit to allow them to prepare the food they’d already had planned, but they follow him like the tide.

“What is compatible with spaghetti?” one asks. Ignis thinks his name might be ‘Eugene’. He heard the name during introductions, but isn’t sure who it belongs to.

“Oh, well, what would you like?”

They exchange confused glances and shuffle in place.

“Come now, there’s no wrong answer.”

Bob rescues them from the awkwardness of the situation. “We’re not adept at pairing food. Normally we just eat whatever’s closest to expiration.”

“Ah. I see. Alright, what have we got?”

There are a number of cans simply labeled “mixed vegetables” that are chosen as a side dish. The MT cooks also unpack a few other things to bulk out the meal. Idly, Ignis wishes he’d thought to pick up some bread. Perhaps another time.

\--

They eat in shifts. Bob and Ignis are seated with the first group. Ignis does his best to be careful, but is woefully certain he’s splashed marinara on either himself or someone else. The MTs, however, are far too interested in the food to take any notice of him. Even those who choose the glucose drip over solid food come over to investigate. It seems scratch cooking is something of a revelation. Ignis blushes, pleased, at their stilted, honest compliments.

“Glad to do it,” he tells them. “Really, it’s my pleasure. Cooking is something of a hobby of mine. I’d be glad to give further lessons any time.”

Since the spaghetti went over so well, he has them gather a couple of cans of preserved fruit and teaches them how to make crumble. It seems few of them have ever tasted sugar, and reviews are mixed. Still, they are pleased, and that’s all that matters.

\--

It’s late by the time all the plates are cleared and dishes washed. Having gotten very little sleep the night before, Ignis is more than ready to retire. Bob takes him over to one of the dropships that’s been converted to living space. Originally, up to sixteen MTs would have been slotted upright against the walls. The niches serve as headboards of a sort, with personal belongings and bedding carefully arranged in the space.

“I do hope I’m not putting someone else out,” Ignis comments. It’s not as if he can tell how much space is occupied.

“No one has had to be reassigned,” Bob confirms. “There is space enough for eight to have adequate room. At present, only four sleep here. Myself, Adam, Jordan, and Charlie.”

“Very good.”

The metal floor is hard and unforgiving, but it’s reassuring to know he’s not alone in the big metal box. Ignis chuckles to himself as he settles down to sleep. The irony. Who would have thought that he’d ever feel so safe and secure in a decommissioned drop ship surrounded by MTs?

\--

Ignis groans as his phone goes off, buzzing across the bare metal floor. It takes him a split second to realize that’s not his alarm. That’s an incoming call! He snatches the phone, suddenly wide awake.

“Scientia.”

“Ignis!” It’s Prompto. “Sorry about the wakeup call. Just wanted to let you know we’re back. Meet you for breakfast at the Leville?”

“Yes! Yes of course. Did everything go well? Is everyone alright?”

“We’re fine,” Prompto assures him. “Not so much as a scratch on anyone. Didn’t use a single potion the whole trip. Got some gibberish for you n’ Ravus to translate.”

“Excellent. See you soon.”

Ignis lays back, breathing a sigh of relief. They’re back. They’re safe. About then he realizes he’s rolled quite close to Bob. Despite the racket of his phone, none of the MTs seem that bothered about it. Perhaps they have their own schedule. Ignis does his best to gracefully extricate himself from his sleeping bag and the arm Bob has thrown over him. Evidently Prompto’s octopus-like sleeping habits are genetic. He’ll thank his host properly later. For now, he needs to hurry up and get to the Leville.


	22. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are brought to light.

Four voices chorus his name, four pairs of hands reach for him. Ignis takes each one, pats the arm and shoulder attached to it, moves up to touch the face. There’s Gladio’s thick scruff, and Prompto’s spiky hair. Iris takes his hand in hers as he checks her over, evidently satisfying her own concerns. Ravus also takes his hand, and if Ignis lingers a bit, no one remarks on it.

“Everyone in one piece?” he presses. “No damage?”

“None,” Gladio assures him. “Trail was a mess, though. Spent most of our time climbing over rock piles and tree trunks.”

They crowd into the booth Ignis and Luna had shared only two nights ago, and relate the details of their excursion. The tomb itself had been in rough shape, but the glyphs and inscriptions- while fragmented- were legible enough. Prompto has lots of pictures to share.

“So what did you do all day?” Iris asks. “Enjoy the peace and quiet?”

There’s a half-beat where Ignis considers smiling and making a witty remark; thinks that perhaps he’ll keep it to himself. Luna already knows. He’d disclose his encounter to Gladio and Prompto without hesitation. There are only two other people outside his original circle, and Iris and Ravus should also be made aware of Izunia’s shenanigans.

With some reluctance, he tells them about Izunia’s second appearance. The silence that follows is tense and heavy.

“So he’s not dead,” Gladio says. It isn’t really a question. “He’s really manifesting somehow.”

“Well, the magical shock was real enough,” Ignis shrugs.

Luna speaks up, indignant on his behalf. “It _did_ happen,” she decrees. “I could sense Izunia’s magic all over him. That didn’t come into being all by itself. Izunia was here, in your home, and I’d prefer that not happen again.”

“Yeah, seconded,” Prompto adds, a decidedly nervous edge to his voice. “How do you keep out a ghost? Or...whatever the hell he is?”

“Good question,” Gladio grumbles. “Any suggestions?”

Iris has an idea. “This is gonna sound really stupid, but what about a night light?”

Everyone turns to look at her.

“Hear me out. He’s like...part daemon or something, right? He’s got starscourge out his ears.”

“Yes,” Ignis confirms.

“Okay, so obviously he can handle like...regular old light bulbs. What about a UV lamp? Daemons are weak against sunlight. So long as the light’s on, would that keep him away?”

“We’ve seen him walk about in broad daylight,” Ignis muses, “but not since returning from Gralea. I wonder if perhaps we did him more damage than we thought? Both times he manifested, he did so indoors.”

“Also, you were alone,” Gladio points out.

“I will not be _babysat_ ,” Ignis snaps. “I’m not helpless!”

“You’re the only who’s said that, dude,” Prompto points out and Ignis feels his face flush.

Gladio elbows him gently. “You’re the one who’s always harping about using the buddy system.”

Ignis pushes up his glasses, embarrassed. “Excuse me.”

“I believe it would be wisest to keep together,” Luna’s tone is placating. “Go about in pairs, as suggested. The man has a horrid sense of humor. We don’t need him playing any additional pranks.”

\--

Ignis had objected out of pride, out of principle, but in his heart he doesn’t really mind. He and Luna had tried to persuade the others to take a day off to rest after their trip, but Gladio, Prompto, Iris, and Ravus will not hear of it. If he’s honest, Ignis is glad it’s not just him and Bob in the office alone.

Ignis spends an hour or two with Ravus trying to make sense of the inscriptions from the tomb. There is nothing wrong with Prompto’s photography, but the pillars and remaining walls of the ruined tomb have been weathered by thousands of years of sand and sun. Ravus again notes what could be an astrological chart of some sort and compares it to the other.

“They’re not identical,” he confirms. “However, the style is very similar. I can’t decide if this is some sort of obtuse way of marking the birth or death of the monarch, or something else.”

“Does the Cosmogony make any reference to star or planetary alignment?” Ignis asks.

“Every other page, but nothing that immediately comes to mind. I’ll go over it again and double-check.”

Ignis catches himself a couple of times as they work, checking his traitorous hands as they reach for the prince. He wants so badly to assure himself that Ravus is telling the truth; that he sustained no injury during the brief adventure. In his head, Ignis knows Ravus is more than likely perfectly fine. Some other part of him- his heart? his nerves?- will not be so easily persuaded.

“Something wrong?”

Ignis forces himself not to blush. “No. I’ve mislaid my pen, that’s all.”

It’s not as blatant a lie as it might be. There’s a legal pad at his elbow. He can’t see the words he scribbles, but Bob will be able to make sense of his chocobo scratch and type it up for someone else to read. It’s better than dictating every thought that flits through his head.

“It’s rolled over to my side. Here you are.”

Ravus’ fingers brush his as he places the pen in Ignis’ hand. It’s harder to beat back the heat that surges through him at the innocent touch. Ignis clears his throat, hoping to preempt the sudden half-octave skip in his voice.

“Thank you.”

The words, mercifully, come out even and civil. Ignis allows himself a minute sigh of relief and scribbles something on the note pad, hopefully not overtop notes made already. Perhaps he should just flip a page for every new thought.

There’s a shift of weight and fabric as Ravus rises from his chair and comes around to the other side of his desk. His shadow descends, allowing Ignis to glimpse the outline of feathery hair and broad shoulders as Ravus kneels in front of him. He doesn’t touch, doesn’t even reach for him. There’s a respectable ten to twelve inches between them, yet Ignis feels as if all the oxygen has suddenly been sucked from the room.

“Are you quite sure everything’s alright?” Ravus asks, genuine concern in his voice.

Ignis cannot answer. This is karma, he’s certain. Payback for having an uneventful adolescence. Oh of course he’d daydreamed about movie stars and pop idols the same as any other teenager, but living under the ever-watchful eye of Niflheim made the possibility of even the most innocent sort of puppy love flirting impossible. Especially since there was no one to flirt _with_. Dammit, the awkward bits were supposed to have happened back when he was fourteen, not now when he’s pushing thirty!

“It was odd, wasn’t it, the last two days,” Ravus goes on. “It felt much longer. I’ve not been separated from Luna for so long since… Well, ever really. We’ve always been together. I confess it was strange and unsettling not to have her within reach. Of course I knew she was in good hands with you, but it wasn’t quite the same as standing beside her myself.”

Ignis nods slowly, not fully trusting himself to speak. “I can sympathize. The four of us… Three of us... have been much the same way. I can barely remember a time before we knew each other. We would have been quite young.”

Seven. He was seven when he met Noctis. Eight when he met Gladio. There’s a bit of a gap and then Prompto when he was eleven. All of them had been together ever since. Living under house arrest like that, they’d had virtually no other friends besides each other. Two days is not such a long time, not really, yet it had felt more like two weeks.

“I’m not Gladiolus or Prompto, and I’m certainly not Noctis.” Ravus’ voice is quiet, and ever so slightly off-kilter. Ignis would almost deem it ‘awkward’. “But if you want to talk, I’ll gladly listen.”

“Thank you.” The words leave Ignis’ mouth, but it’s as if someone else has spoken. Ravus nods and returns to his seat. Ignis has to actively will his hands to remain where they are. What would he do if he reached for Ravus and caught him? What would he do with the wrist in his hand? What would he say then? He doesn’t know, and so forces himself to keep still.

Right. They still have work to do.

“Where’s that pedestal inscription?” Ravus asks. It’s a rhetorical question. Ignis certainly can’t see it. “Ah. Here. Prompto took several pictures and I noticed something peculiar.”

“Oh?”

“One side appears to be more recently carved than the other. I do wonder how far in advance these things were prepared prior to the monarch’s death? Perhaps it was finished and the second inscription added post-mortem?”

“What’s it say?”

Ravus pronounces the words like a priest delivering the death rights. Ignis asks him to repeat it- not because he didn’t hear it, but because the first pass is usually devoted to just savoring the sound of Ravus’ speaking voice no matter how hard he tries to focus.

Ignis’ brows crease as he parses the words in his head.

“That’s hardly the standard royal inscription.”

“I only got about half of that myself,” Ravus confesses. “My Old Sol’s still a bit rusty.”

“Well I can’t do it justice, but let me give you the literal translation. That’s worth hearing:

“ _Here lieth Somnus, Original King, chosen of the gods.  
Crowned in bitterness, ruled in strife, enthroned of blood.  
Age, not battle, brought him low. Many years made him humble.  
He sleeps in Darkness of his own design, awaiting the Dawn._”

“Well,” Ravus says, bewildered, “that’s certainly a departure.”

“What was the other one? It was much more typical.”

“One moment… Here it is.” Ravus reads that off and Ignis makes himself focus on the language, not the speech.

“ _A noble king, chosen defender of the sacred Stone and Ring.  
Founder of Lucis. Great Mystic and Warrior._”

“It’s a much more diplomatic epitaph,” Ravus agrees. “The carving on that one isn’t so worn, and the words are an entirely different script.”

“Lots of those funny pothook letters, and none of the words run together?”

“Exactly…” Ravus drawls, impressed. “How did you know?”

“The oldest versions of Old Solheim predate punctuation as we’re familiar with it. The script and spacing puts it a good hundred years or so after the initial inscription.”

“Sounds like someone was trying to burnish old Somnis’ reputation. One hundred years is only what? Three or four generations? Perhaps strengthening a claim to the throne?”

Ignis nods in agreement. “It’s possible. I’d have to double-check what was happening at the time. I’m afraid ancient history hasn’t been at the forefront of my mind of late.”

Ravus chuckles and shuffles some papers. “Understandable.”

Ignis smiles. The awkwardness is gone, and it feels as if they’re getting somewhere.

Almost.

\--

After his translation session with Ravus, it’s back to business as usual. Ignis shifts gears from ancient languages to much more pressing matters. Housing continues to be an issue, and a couple of merchants have been gouging for items that have had a price cap put on them. Someone will need to speak with them and remind them of city policy.

There are cases of starscourge that Luna has been trying to keep on top of with Gladio and Iris’ help. Prompto has his work cut out for him with the MTs, and that leaves most everything else to Ignis and Ravus. It strikes Ignis as odd, suddenly, that Ravus isn’t in the room with them. Shouldn’t he be here, collaborating directly and not through correspondence, instead of sequestered in his own office alone? From a purely administrative standpoint, it makes more sense, yet Ignis can’t bring himself to say anything just yet.

He catches himself reaching for Prompto and Gladio, finding reasons to touch them. On the way to the coffee maker, in handing over documents, reaching for a pen.

Gladio grabs his wrist, sets Ignis’ hand on his arm. “Here. Go ahead. Make good and sure we’re still in one piece.”

Ignis hesitates before running his hands over Gladio’s torso. The movements are habitual, clinical; the standard checks of a nurse looking for injury. He finds none, and repeats the steps just to be sure.

“Oh c’mere,” Gladio says eventually, and pulls him into a crushing hug. Ignis hides his face in Gladio’s shoulder, caught somewhere between embarrassed and grateful.

“I’m sorry. I was worried.”

“We shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“I’m perfectly capable--”

“That’s not the point. Should’ve formally assigned you to Luna, or gotten a detail or something. Who the hell leaves the acting leaders unguarded?”

“It’s not as if her Royal Highness and myself were without protection.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, dammit,” Gladio huffs. “Will you just let me apologize?”

Ignis lowers his head, mollified. “If you feel you must, though there’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I think that’s Ignis for ‘I forgive you’,” Prompto adds, an unmistakable smile in his words. He stands still while Ignis gives him a once-over as well. He also offers a hug which Ignis is only too glad to receive.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis stammers once Prompto’s let go. “I’d thought I was past this stage.”

“Izunia threw off your groove. It happens,” Prompto assures him. “You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

For a very specific definition of ‘normal’, anyway.

\--

The apartment feels less menacing with Gladio and Prompto there. Still, dinner is oddly quiet. They’re all tired, and no one lingers much before heading to bed.

“Creepy to think he was in here,” Prompto remarks over the rustle of fabric as he changes into his pajamas.

“Very,” Ignis agrees.

“You don’t think… I mean, he won’t try to sneak in with all of us here, right?”

“I hope not. So far he’s only appeared when I’m alone, unless you have something to share?”

Ignis briefly notes the outline of Prompto’s body as he shifts. “Not...anything recent, no.”

“If you care to talk, I’ll listen.”

There’s an awkward silence. Prompto’s silhouette reappears as he moves to sit on the lower bunk. Ignis finds his way over and sits next to him.

“He didn’t like...actually _do_ anything,” Prompto begins with a disclaimer of sorts. “He never, yanno, touched me. Not in like, a bad way or anything. Didn’t mean he wasn’t creepy as fuck and scared the hell out of me as a kid. I’d be lying if I said he didn’t still creep me out.”

Ignis nods. “He did have a way of getting in one’s personal space.”

“Right? He’d watch sometimes when I was getting serviced. Nothing like having some creepy old dude eyeing you up while you’re in your underwear. Anyway, he was kind of on my case a lot back before we left Insomnia.”

Ignis turns to look at Prompto, despite not being able to parse his expression. There’s only emptiness in front of him, but the gesture comes from habit, muscle memory. He wants to know more, and Prompto will respond to the physical cue even if Ignis can’t do the same.

“I never gave him anything.” He huffs a nervous chuckle. “Wanna know something funny? Remember how I said I was a reject and they could never get my command uplink to work so they could control me remotely?”

“Yes.”

“Know why?”

“No.”

“I broke it.”

Ignis feels his eyebrows climb. “And no one thought to fix it?”

“Oh they tried, believe me.” His hunched shoulders shiver into view as Prompto cringes. “I guess it never occurred to them to program me not to mess with it. Eventually I learned to alter the programming without knocking it out completely. Before we left, though, I made sure no amount of repairs would fix it.”

“I’d no idea.”

Prompto shrugs. “You didn’t need to know.”

“But I would have liked to.” He finds Prompto’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

Ignis starts slightly as Prompto leans against him, throwing an arm around him. Ignis returns the gesture with a bit less force.

“You’re a good guy, Igster.”

Ignis is powerless to stop the smile stealing across his face.

“So are you.”

They sit there for a moment. Prompto squeezes him lightly in a sort of one-armed hug, but makes no move to get up. Ignis shifts, putting both arms around him. Prompto’s other arm threads its way to lock his hands behind Ignis’ back. When he speaks again, Prompto’s voice is small and fragile.

“The months I was gone… I wasn’t sure they were gonna let me go. Let me live. I thought for sure they were gonna take me apart piece by piece and when they put me back together- _if_ they put me back together- I wouldn’t be me. I’d just be something that looked like me, but wasn’t. They’d send me back and I’d have to spy on you and report back and tell them stuff whether I wanted to or not. Then you’d hate me. Even if I wasn’t really me...I couldn’t have lived with that.”

Ignis rubs Prompto’s back, trying to be comforting.

“I’m glad that didn’t happen,” he says quietly. “I’m glad you came back to us in one piece, and that you’re still you.”

Against his chest, Prompto nods. “Me too.”

Prompto’s shoulders jerk once, twice, as Prompto heaves a sharp breath. It takes Ignis a belated moment to realize he’s crying. Ignis says nothing, just holds him, drawing him close and stroking his hair as he once had for Noctis when he was little. He finds himself rocking Prompto gently, one hand combing through Prompto’s unruly golden curls and the other around his shoulders. He’s not crying anymore, but he holds on as if Ignis is the only thing left in the world.

Rather than dismiss him to his own bunk, Ignis lays back, pulling Prompto with him. The little twin bed is barely wide enough for Ignis alone, but it will have to do. Prompto lets go only long enough to turn and tuck his back to Ignis’ chest, clutching the hand of the arm that Ignis drapes over him. It’s a tight fit, but that’s alright. They’ve slept in closer quarters than this. It’s infinitely preferable to sleeping alone.

“‘Night, Iggy.”

“Goodnight, Prompto.”


	23. Field Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an adventure is cut short.

Business as usual resumes, but there’s already plans for another excursion in the works. There are a couple of tombs to choose from in the immediate vicinity. The Tomb of the Just is the nearest, and easiest to achieve. Leide holds only two tombs. The Tomb of the Conqueror isn’t heavily infested by creatures but is farther afield. The Tomb of the Clever is closer, but home to much more powerful enemies. Cleigne boasts four tombs. It will require a bit of a drive, but none of them will be that bad to explore once they’ve arrived. Everyone agrees it makes more sense for a detachment of Glaives to inspect the single tomb in Tenebrae- they’ve set up a base there already. What they’re to do about the two tombs in the ruin that is Insomnia, Ignis does not know.

There’s no fuss about including Ignis on the next reconnaissance mission. As stated, the Tomb of the Just is easily accessible, and guarded only by local fauna. The danger there is slim to none. Iris graciously volunteers to stay behind with Luna. Ignis makes a mental note to prepare her favorite dessert upon their return.

The excursion is hardly worth remarking upon. Indeed, it goes so well, that Ignis feels he’s now got leverage that he can use to wrangle about being brought along on the next adventure. If one can truly call these little jaunts “adventures”.

It takes some cajoling, but Ignis is grudgingly allowed to join the party to investigate the Tomb of the Wanderer. Ravus stays behind this time, making Iris their fourth party member. It’s a little like having Noctis back. Iris was never part of their immediate circle, but as Gladio’s sister, she was never far away either. She’s had similar combat training and knows how to fight with the group. They return victorious with more inscriptions to translate.

It goes much the same for the Tomb of the Rogue- another female syntax, interesting- and the Tomb of the Fierce. Of course it all goes sideways when they venture into the Malmalan Thicket.

\--

Ignis likes to joke that he lost his walking stick in the Vesperpool. Indeed, he’s barely used it since. He has the layout of Lestallum virtually memorized, and it just isn’t practical offroad, as it were. Of course it’s not actually lost, it’s stored in the Armiger with all the other weapons, curatives, and other bits and bobs that are too large to fit in his pockets. Gladio likes to tease him about trying to summon his daggers and then coming up with a soup ladle.

“You don’t think I could kill a daemon with a soup ladle?” Ignis inquires.

Gladio does not reply.

He doesn’t actually use the daggers that much anymore, only for close combat. Recently he’s favored the pole-arms and javelins. It allows him a bit more distance since he’s playing by a completely different set of rules than everyone else. They can see what they’re doing. He, for the most part, cannot. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t _know_ what he’s doing.

He’s still the slowest of the group, still needs to be pulled in the right direction now and again, but Ignis can find his way without wandering off a cliff or falling into a hole. It’s a fool that goes abroad alone after dark, sighted or not, and Ignis is not a fool. He’s had multiple successful excursions now, and there is only token argument when he lobbies to be included in the next venture.

“You sure?” Gladio hedges. “We took on a Bandersnatch the last time, and those things are tough.”

“They’re weak against electricity,” Ravus cuts in. There’s a pause as everyone stares at him. Despite technically being part of the team for nearly two years, there’s still a brief moment of surprise every time he adds his two gil.

“I shall accompany you.”

There’s an exchange of looks and then Gladio shrugs. “Okay, sure.”

\--

“ _IGNIS!_ ”

Just his name, no directions. It doesn’t matter. Ignis is thrown back into the dirt as electricity blasts past him. His breath leaves him in a whoosh as he falls flat on his back. It takes precious seconds to pull in air, to summon his knives. The bandersnatch screams and collapses with an almighty _THUD_. No, wait. It can’t be the creature. The scream thins and persists for another half-second. It sounds almost human.

_Oh gods._

“Prompto!” Gladio thunders past. “Six, Prom! Prom, can you hear me?”

“Astrals above…” Ravus breathes. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t see him. I thought… I couldn’t…”

“What’s happened?” Ignis demands, though he can make an educated guess.

“His Royal Highness let rip a lightning bolt,” Gladio explains. “It took out the bandersnatch, but Prompto got caught in the crossfire.”

Ignis viciously shakes his head to try to see where-- Ah! There they are. He stumbles over and drops to his knees, reaching for Prompto’s inert body. Gladio lets him perform the same checks that he’s no doubt already done himself.

“No pulse, no breathing.” Gladio’s voice is tense.

“Let me do chest compressions. We don’t want to break anything else.”

Gladio edges back and lets Ignis do the work. The absurd lines of disco music play in his mind; it’s somehow easier than counting off:

_Ah- ah- ah- ah- Stayin’ alive- Stayin’ alive-_

“Gladio?”

“Still nothing. I’m worried the lightning might have fried something important.”

“I’m… I’m not the healer my sister is but…” That’s Ravus, voice strained and frightened. Ignis isn’t about to quibble over degrees of magical dexterity at this point. He shuffles aside.

“Do it.”

Ravus kneels down between them, spreads the fingers of his metal hand over Prompto’s chest. He bows his head, concentrating. There’s a spark, a crackle, and everyone shouts at the sudden burst of magic.

“I thought you were gonna heal him, not roast him again!” Gladio roars. Ravus visibly recoils at the shouting. 

“I’m sorry…” he says, voice small. “It was an accident.”

But there’s a ragged inhale and fit of coughing from the ground. Prompto’s alive.

“Yes, alright,” Ignis says briskly, dismissing the apology. Either way, it got the job done.

“Easy,” Gladio’s voice is soft and gentle now. He eases a hand behind Prompto’s head and shoulders, helping him sit up a little. “Just take it slow.”

Laboured coughing and the sound of retching give way to ragged breathing. Ignis allows himself to relax enough to exhale.

“Guys…” Prompto rasps. Ignis reaches, finds his hand and holds it. Prompto’s grip is reassuringly strong- probably from panic, but he’ll take it.

“It’s alright, Prompto,” Ignis soothes. “Where does it hurt? What needs to be fixed?”

Prompto doesn’t answer right away.

“I think he’s rebooting,” Gladio says. “His eyes are moving, almost like he’s dreaming.”

Hang the photos, Ignis decides. Prompto is more important. “We should return to the haven. The last thing we need is another encounter. Ravus, you take point, I’ll bring up the rear.”

The prince shakes himself, snapping back to reality and out of sheer reflex, salutes. “Right.”

\--

It’s a stressful dash back the haven. Of _course_ they don’t escape without running afoul of a few creatures. Happily, all of them have long legs and they outrun just about every enemy they come across. Prompto’s whimpering in Gladio’s arms by the time they set him down on his sleeping bag. Although Ignis winces himself with every little grunt and moan, he takes it as a good sign. Prompto’s still with them.

“Prom?” Gladio asks, one hand behind Prompto’s neck to help him focus. “Hey buddy, glad to have you back. Can you see me?”

“Yeah,” Prompto rasps and Ignis feels the tightness in his chest loosen ever so slightly.

“What can we do? What hurts?”

Prompto heaves too-deep breaths before answering. The words come out jagged and fragmented; syllables skipping and repeating. The lightning must have knocked his voice box out of kilter.

“Ev-v-v-v-v-v-verrrrrrr-y-thing,” he stammers. “Can’t- can’t- can’t- se-ee much. All sys-temmmmmmm-s offline. Emerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-gency functions only.”

Gladio swears. “We can’t fix this, can we. This’s an MT thing.”

Indeed, they can’t. Prompto had served as the mechanic for Noctis’ implants. If Prompto had had an issue, he would have either serviced himself, or one of the Niflheim techs had done so. Now, there’s no one present who knows how to fix him. They can’t even tell how serious his injuries are.

“He’s leaking something,” Ravus observes.

“What? Where?” Gladio’s unzipping the sleeping bag, shoving back clothing. “Shit, his reservoir has a crack.”

That’s the big panel set into Prompto’s side, just under his ribs. Ignis summons the medical tape almost without thought. “This should hold him until we get home.”

“I don’t know if he can last the night like this,” Gladio says. “It’s not blood it’s...whatever the hell he runs on. I don’t think he can just make more on his own. He’s gonna need a transfusion or something. We gotta-- Ravus? What’s with you? I mean, yeah, it’s bad and I’m totally cussing you out later, but he’ll live.”

There’s an awful sort of silence for the space of a few heartbeats.

“That purple substance is the fuel he runs on?” Ravus asks.

“Yeah.”

“I know what that is. Can’t you tell? It’s daemon miasma. Liquid starscourge. And they’re all running on this. What in seven hells…?”

It’s Ignis and Gladio’s turn to freeze in awful silence. Now that Ravus has pointed it out, the familiar stink of blood and mildew is unmistakable. Starscourge. Prompto- and not so long ago Noctis- has implants filled with and powered by starscourge. Ignis feels ill. Between them, Prompto begins crying softly.

“We need to get back to Lestallum,” Ignis is proud of the calm command in his voice. The rest of him wants to throw up. “He needs one of the MTs to look him over and affect repairs.”

“Yeah one problem with that,” Gladio says, hefting Prompto, sleeping bag and all, in his arms. “Prompto’s the only one who can drive.”

“I can drive,” Ignis reminds him. “I did _all_ the driving before.”

“Yeah, _before_.”

“I can see motion,” he presses. “Unless you or Ravus care to learn stick in five seconds flat, I’m not sure we have much of a choice!”

“I can drive,” Ravus says quietly. “I’ve never driven stick, but I’m a fast learner.”

Gladio and Ignis exchange a surprised glance. “Yeah, okay.”

\--

They pack up at once. They leave Prompto wrapped in his sleeping bag, partly to keep him warm, and partly to protect his synthetic bits from sustaining further damage. It’s a stressful speed walk back to the Regalia. They encounter a few more enemies- notably those damnable wasps- before all is said and done. Something strikes Ignis from behind as they flee yet another swarm, sending him sprawling face-first into the hard-packed earth.

“Iggy!” That’s Gladio, but his hands are full. Ignis picks himself up, doesn’t even bother to dust himself off, and keeps running after his friends’ moving shadows.

“I’m fine! Keep going!”

Running almost full tilt, Ignis can make out the outline of the Regalia. He slides into the passenger seat and gives Ravus a crash course on how to use a clutch. Ravus grinds the gears in a way that makes Ignis cringe, but once they’re on the highway, there’s less to worry about. In the back seat, Gladio holds Prompto steady, head in his lap. It’s an uncomfortably silent, sickeningly tense few hours back. Ignis calls ahead to let the others know what happened.

When they finally arrive, there’s an entire squad of MTs waiting to receive them. They fall upon Prompto like so many EMTs. Which, Ignis reflects, is exactly what they are. He sees things in flashes- the rapid movements of the MT mechanics, the gurney they place Prompto on, the sudden surge as they push him toward their encampment. Ignis moves to follow but only makes it as far as lifting one foot off the ground. The ground rushes up and hits him _hard_.

“ _Iggy!_ ”

The voice is distant and wobbly in his ears. He doesn’t even recognize it. Everything feels fuzzy and far away. It occurs to him that he has no idea where he is; what the frantic shapes moving around him are. He summons a knife into one hand.

“No… Stay back!”

Ignis tries to get to his feet, but it requires more effort, more coordination than he currently has. He collapses a second time, the pavement hot against his face and hands. There’s the sensation of spinning- abrupt and awful. Ignis scrunches his eyes shut and swallows back the urge to be sick.

It’s the last thing he remembers.


	24. Patch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which close shaves are had, but it all works out in the end.

Ignis surfaces from the deeps waters of unconsciousness slowly. Reality feels sharp and too heavy. Light lancing through the crack in his vision is like an actual knife to his ruined eyes. He turns to bury his face in what he eventually identifies as a mattress. He’s lying face-down on a bed. He’s got a thundering headache, a queasy feeling lingers in his stomach, and it feels like someone’s tried to pin him to the bed with a railroad spike through the spine. He turns his head the other away, feeling his back and neck muscles scream in protest. It’s darker and more bearable now that he isn’t facing the light.

“Ignis?”

There’s a touch of cold metal fingers to his hand, and Ignis grabs them instinctively. He can’t provide a name, but some distant lizard part of his brain tells him this person is safe.

“Can you hear me?”

A hand sweeps over his hair. The touch is feather-light, but still makes him flinch. Everything hurts. Even the shift of the sheets against his bare back sends sickening pins and needles shivering through him. Wait. It takes a supreme force of effort to focus enough to kickstart his brain. Degrees of awareness flicker back to life one by one like ancient fluorescent lights.

He manages to grunt in response. Whoever’s with him breathes a sigh of relief.

“Gladiolus is with Prompto. I didn’t think my presence would be welcome, so he asked that I watch over you.”

 _Ravus_ , his brain finally locates the appropriate file. That’s Ravus talking to him, holding his hand, fussing with the bedclothes. Ignis’ modesty must be back online because he’s suddenly acutely aware that under the sheets, he isn’t wearing anything. He waves Ravus’ fussing away with his free hand. Not that he thinks Ravus would intentionally compromise his privacy, but still.

“Sorry.”

“Prom?” Ignis croaks.

“He’s fine. The MTs were able to patch him up. He’s still with them, probably will be until they’re satisfied he’s 100% again.”

Ignis nods and instantly regrets it. The rub of his scars against the sheets feels more like sandpaper.

“Shhh,” Ravus soothes, resting a hand on his head. Somehow, that doesn’t feel so bad, and Ignis obediently lies still.

“You had a wasp stinger embedded in your back. I guess you didn’t feel it, what with everything else going on. You actually had a closer shave than Prompto.”

“How long?” he mumbles.

“You’ve been asleep for two days. An Elixir cleared the worst of the venom from your system, but you’d spent all day with it stuck inside you. I’m sorry, but I’m told you’re going to feel like rubbish until you’ve had a chance to metabolize the rest of the poison.”

That’s fine. As long as Prompto’s alright.

“I’m sorry,” Ravus goes on. “If it wasn’t for me, neither of you would have gotten hurt. I should have been the one to stay behind, not you.”

Ignis shifts, squinting against the light. Ravus drops his hand and a moment later there’s a sweep of curtain rings and the light is gone.

“Thank you,” he rasps.

Ravus takes his hand again and Ignis squeezes it as best he can.

“Next time I’ll stay behind,” Ravus promises. “I shouldn’t have tried to elbow in where I am not wanted.”

“Yeah, about that.”

That’s Gladio. They both look up as he enters the room. Ignis rethinks his decision to move, gagging as a wave of nausea rolls over him.

“Whoa, easy.” Gladio’s big, warm hand descends to Ignis’ shoulder. “You gonna hurl?”

Ignis wonders if that would help at all? Though his throat and stomach convulse, nothing happens. He must be out of ammunition. “No.”

“Just because the mission went to shit doesn’t mean it’s all your fault.” Gladio’s tone is oddly consolatory. “We all fucked up. We’re not as good at working with you as we are with each other, and that needs to change like last week. That can’t happen again.”

“No indeed,” Ravus agrees. “What do you suggest?”

“We haven’t done a lot of training since we came here. We need to work that into the routine. We need to be able to fight with anyone as well as we do with each other.”

There’s a flicker of feathery hair and a patrician profile as Ravus nods. “Agreed.”

“Prompto?” Ignis’ question sets off a full thirty seconds of dry coughing. Someone sets a straw against his lips and he sips gratefully.

“Prompto’s fine,” Gladio assures him, voice gentle. “Goin’ stir crazy, but the MTs have him on lockdown until they’re satisfied he’s fully recovered. He’s probably fit for desk duty, but not much else right now. I’m told it’ll take you a little longer to bounce back.”

“M’fine,” Ignis mumbles into the sheets. All he really wants to do right now is go back to sleep.

“‘Course you are.” Gladio pats his shoulder softly. 

There’s some additional muttered discussion between Gladio and Ravus, but it’s an indistinct buzz in Ignis’ ears. Before long, it fades entirely and he’s fast asleep.

\--

Ignis isn’t alone the second time he wakes.

“Hey Iggy, you okay?”

“Prompto?” Ignis turns his head toward his voice, reaches with one hand. It’s still hurts to move, but he can’t tell if he’s hearing things or not.

There’s a rustle of fabric, what sounds like bare feet slapping against the tile, and Prompto’s little hands fold around his.

“I’m right here. The MTs fixed me up. Just had to replace some seals and casings. I should have done a system refresh a while ago, so it all worked out. I’m not allowed to go back on duty, so I asked if I could rest up here with you.”

“And they let you?” The words leave his mouth before Ignis can stop them. It’s so like Prompto to put a sunny spin on things, to make little of his own suffering, but this is different. He runs on liquid starscourge. Should anyone learn that he and all the other MTs are powered by daemon miasma...

“It’s just you, Gladio, and Ravus who know my dirty little secret,” Prompto mumbles. “And the MTs, but it’s not like they’re gonna tell on themselves.”

“So it’s not been made public?”

Ignis can just make out the whip of unruly hair as Prompto shakes his head. “No.”

“Just as well,” Ignis says. “I lived next to you side-by-side for the last fifteen years without incident. Although it’s a concern, it’s a concern for you and the MTs more than that of the general public. It’s not an issue, and therefore no one needs to know.”

“So...you really don’t care?”

“It makes no difference to me,” Ignis assures him. “Nothing’s changed. You’re still you.”

Prompto sniffles and shifts where he stands, bare feet no doubt cold on the tile floor.

“You should be in bed,” Ignis tells him gently.

“Then push over.”

Ignis can’t summon the muscle or the energy to do more than turn on his side, but it’s enough. Prompto slots himself into the space, back to Ignis’ chest. The touch still tingles unpleasantly, and Prompto’s body heat is almost too much to bear, but somehow it’s better than being alone. Prompto lets out a breath that sounds as if he’s been holding it for a long time.

“I think Ravus apologized like sixty times inside thirty minutes when he came to see me.”

“Did he now?”

“He feels really bad about the whole thing. For a prince, poor guy’s got a serious inferiority complex.”

“Well, he’s a man of Tenebrae.”

“Right, mother of all matriarchal societies. Still.”

“He’ll come round,” Ignis says sleepily.

“Yeah.” A pause. “It really doesn’t bother you? My power source, I mean?”

Ignis snugs the arm he’s thrown over Prompto a little closer. Prompto may be part machine, but he has a pulse, a heart beat, Ignis can feel his chest expand as he breathes. It’s comforting.

“Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Does it bother you that I’m blind?”

“Yeah, well, only in the sense that life’s gotten harder for you. I mean, doesn’t change how I feel. You’re still my friend. You’re still Ignis.”

“There you are.”

He can hear the smile in Prompto’s voice. “Touche.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Ignis yawns. “I still love you.”

“Awww ya big softie. Medication’s gettin’ to you, isn’t it?”

Ignis makes an indistinct reply and tucks his chin against Prompto’s head. Prompto covers Ignis’ hand with his own.

“Sweet dreams, Iggy.”


	25. Reorganization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rest and recovery.

Prompto is released the following day, but the doctors won’t clear Ignis until he can stand up and walk out the door on his own. At present, he can sit up, but not much more. He still feels terrible, but not enough to sleep the day away. Prompto brings him his phone and a set of earbuds.

“Where are my glasses?”

“Couldn’t find ‘em in your stuff. I think we might’ve left them in the woods, so I got you these.”

Prompto presses a pair of plastic frames into Ignis’ hands. There’s a brief pang at the loss of his prescription sunglasses, and then Ignis remembers he doesn’t need them anymore. Wearing them had been habit; vanity. His fingers curl around the new sunglasses tightly.

“Thank you.”

“Try ‘em on!”

Ignis does so. They’re a bit bulkier than his old glasses. The rim goes all the way around on these, and the lenses are much wider. Ignis thinks these might have been intended for sport; biking or some such.

“Ooooh! I like it!”

“They look alright?”

“Badass.”

Ignis smirks. “I trust your judgement.”

\--

Ravus comes by to visit. He’s got a stack of photographs and a notebook.

“Aranea’s here,” he explains. “She, Iris, Gladio, and myself went out and got the pictures. I’m sure they’re nowhere near the quality of Prompto’s, but at least we have them.”

He and Ignis spend a happy hour going through them. So far nothing new about the Chosen King, but there’s more tidbits in graffiti that make some very interesting hints about the Founder King. Seems old Somnis Lucis Caelum had a skeleton or two in his garderobe. What variety and how many, however, is yet unknown.

“I take it the trip went better this time?”

Ignis swears he can feel the heat of Ravus’ blush.

“Somewhat. I’m sorry about that.”

“It was an _accident_ ,” Ignis insists. “Please, let’s speak no more about it.”

“I was worried about you. I acted, and didn’t think.”

“So have we all.”

“Yes but I almost killed your friend!”

“Your highness, please don’t take it to heart. I hope Gladio hasn’t dressed you down too harshly?”

“No, actually. He promised me a tonguelashing but I’ve yet to receive it.”

Ignis smiles. “Then he’s either forgotten, decided you’ve suffered enough, or both.”

Ravus snorts a little laugh at this.

“Is it really so distracting to have me along?”

“A little.”

“Then I ought to be the one to stay behind. You can’t be distracted by what isn’t there.”

“Can’t I?”

Now it’s Ignis’ turn to blush.

“I know we agreed,” Ravus says softly. “It was the right thing to do, but I can’t help worrying.”

Ignis isn’t sure what to say to that.

“You should be in the same room with us,” he blurts.

“Pardon?”

“You should be in the same office with Gladio, Prompto, and myself. It makes no sense for you to be off by yourself. We’re all managing things together. You should be there too. Or...or would that make it harder for you?”

“Do you think they’d suffer me?”

“Whyever not?”

Ravus shifts, trying to find the right words. “The three of you have been together for so long, since you were children. You’re a closed circuit. I don’t want to disrupt your dynamic.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Ignis apologies. Ravus leans back a little, evidently taken aback. “We’ve been together for so long, probably more than is healthy. We don’t mean to be insular, but we’ve not been able to depend on anyone outside of our immediate circle before this. Of course we know and trust you and Lady Lunafreya, but old habits are hard to break.”

There’s a ghost of motion as Ravus nods. “I see.”

“So...will you consider it?”

“Have you asked your fellows about this?”

“Not yet,” Ignis confesses, “but I will.”

“Do that first.”

\--

The hospital sends Ignis home the following day. He thinks seriously about summoning the walking stick from the armiger- not because he can’t find his way, but because he’s vaguely worried he’ll collapse. He hasn’t managed to eat much and the lingering effects of the wasp venom haven’t completely worn off. Gladio and Prompto each offer their elbow and he walks between them, grateful.

Ignis doesn’t bring up his conversation with Ravus until later in the day. He runs it past Gladio and Prompto, citing pros and cons, and asks their opinion. He can’t see them, but he’s pretty sure they’re gawking at him. The stunned silence is pretty telling.

“Well, it would make more sense,” Prompto says eventually. “He’s working on the same stuff we are.”

“Are you sure?” Gladio asks. “It won’t be weird for you?”

Ignis can’t help a smirk. “You two are the ones who thought we ought to be in a relationship.”

“Well...it’s...not really our place,” Gladio says slowly. “I know it took us long enough to figure that out. I’m open as long as you’re cool.”

“We should probably be trying harder to include him,” Prompto reasons aloud. “I mean we’re not _trying_ to shut him out, but I feel like it keeps happening? Partly because of Iggy and partly because of…”

_Noctis._

The word hangs unspoken between them. With Noctis gone, it feels too much like cheating, as if they were trying to fill his space with another prince. Except that isn’t what they’re doing, far from it.

“Yeah.”

“So, anyway. Ravus.” That’s Prompto, awkward yet determined. “There’s room for him, Luna too if she wants an informal office. Really, we should get our own space and quit hogging rooms in the power plant. They probably need them for other stuff.”

Ignis nods in agreement. “An excellent idea. I shall speak to Holly about it first thing.”

\--

Turns out there’s space in City Hall. The refugee problem is slowly, painstakingly, sorting itself out. No one’s sleeping in cots in the community center and school gyms anymore. Other space is slowly becoming available, including a suite of offices that had formerly belonged to the Records office. Since everything’s gone digital, they don’t need the vast rows of shelves and cabinets that had once housed the paper files. The walls of pigeon holes are taken down, and desks and chairs scavenged along with computers and other office supplies.

Although four desks have been found, they spend most of their time crowded around an old library table. Gladio and Prompto sit on one side, Ignis and Ravus on the other. Occasionally, Luna comes and presides at the head, with Iris at the foot. It works out far better than anyone had expected.

Training is interesting. For one, they have to find a place that isn’t in immediate view of the general public and two, is big enough for them to roughhouse. Both Gladio and Ravus wield oversized weapons, to say nothing of Luna’s trident, and they don’t want to wreck the place. There’s a tennis court ringed with chain link behind the Leville that they commandeer. They take the nets down and wrap foam around the posts. It’ll do for now.

To start, Gladio has Ravus and Luna give them a crash course on Tenebraen style sparring. It’s a bit different from what the Lucians are used to. They go through a few forms, and then take turns fighting one-on-one, just to get a feel for it. They should have done this ages ago, but what with constantly being on the run, they’d never found the time. There’s time now. So much time, they’ve no idea what to do with it all.

Ignis pairs with Luna to start, using a javelin against her trident. She’s got a couple tricks he’s never learned, and he’s able to give her a few tips as well. The next time Aranea visits, Ignis hopes to have a match with her. She also fights with a polearm, and it will be interesting to see what she has to add.

Across the tennis court, Gladio and Ravus are having an animated discussion about swords. Indeed, Gladio is turning a blade in his hand the shape of which Ignis cannot immediately place. Then Gladio hands it back to Ravus who slots it into the sheath at his hip. Well now. Not just anyone will let someone else handle a weapon like that. It’s a profound gesture of goodwill, perhaps a further attempt at apology. These things happen. Ignis wishes Ravus understood that.

Which reminds him.

“How’s magic practice coming?”

“For me or my brother?” Luna asks.

Ignis shrugs. “Both?”

“I think we’ve got drawing down, but offensive spells are still a work in progress for him. He’s been told all his life that only women can use magic. Despite having cast a spell several times now, I think somewhere in the back of his mind, he still thinks he can’t do it.”

Ignis nods, turning that over. He wishes Noctis were here. He’s as gifted a mage as Luna, and a man besides. Ravus might take better to the teachings of a fellow prince and magic-user. However, this is what they’ve got for now.

“Thank you. For including him. It means the world to him.”

Ignis feels his cheeks heat and hopes he isn’t blushing too much. “Please, think nothing of it.”


	26. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys get a little practice in.

“If I might remind everyone,” Ignis says somewhat testily, “to please shout _instructions_ and not simply my name. An ‘on your left!’ would be infinitely more helpful.”

A chorus of “right” and “sorry” meets his ears.

“Now. Shall we continue?”

“Alright gentlemen, from the top,” Aranea is their acting referee. “Go!”

They engage. Gladio’s got them drilling combat forms on the tennis court again, practicing against each other. Ignis has his javelin out, the better to keep sharp, pointy things out of his personal space. It’s not difficult sparring with Gladio and Prompto. He could have fought them blindfolded before losing his sight. Ravus and Luna, however…

“Time out!” Aranea calls. “Lucians, you’re clustering again. Don’t leave the prince on his own. Gods, what if he were Noctis?”

They collectively cringe.

“That’s a bit below the belt,” Ravus hedges, apparently hoping to smooth any ruffled feathers.

“No, she’s right,” Gladio agrees. “What’re we doing wrong?”

“I’m not sure you guys hold all the blame.” Ignis just catches her outline as she shifts all her weight to one leg. “Ravus, you’re acting like you’re a ranged fighter when you’ve got a broadsword. You should be up front with Gladio. Prompto’s got everyone covered from behind, and there’s nothing’ wrong with Ignis’ aim either, though hell if I know how he does that.”

Ignis smirks. “In my case, a moving target is easier to hit.”

She eyes them for a moment longer. “Okay, let’s try something different. Everybody’s gonna take a turn facing off one-on-one with Ignis, and then with Ravus. Gladio, you and Ignis go first.”

They square off. Ignis has his knives out this time. It’s best to keep Gladio at short range where he’ll have no room to swing his larger, two-handed weapons. They feint and block, and trade blows for only a few seconds before Aranea calls time.

“Okay, nothing wrong there. Prom, your turn.”

It’s harder matching Prompto shot for shot. He’s only firing BBs, but Ignis would prefer not to get hit. This is another instance where distance is deadly. Ignis blocks with his javelin until he can dance close enough to corner Prompto with his knives.

“Not bad,” Aranea offers an approving bit of applause. “Not easy to match lead with steel. Okay, Ignis take a breather. Ravus, Gladio, you’re up.”

Ignis can only trace their movements; squint after their bulky shadows as they dodge and dance around each other. Neither are going for blood, but even Ignis can see there’s something off. Ravus isn’t quite the seasoned veteran that the rest of them are. It isn’t that he’s unskilled, but his technique has too much of the classroom about it. He’s expecting Gladio to stick to textbook forms, and he isn’t. Consequently, Gladio soon knocks him on his ass.

“You’re overthinking it,” Aranea comments as Gladio offers Ravus a hand up. “This isn’t a test. Forget the rule book and just react.”

Ignis wonders if it has to do with being in a training arena? They _have_ fought before on hunts with both Luna and Ravus without issue. Ignis isn’t sure why Ravus seems to be somewhat off his game.

Prompto and Ravus square off and it’s more of the same. As if to test that she’s not imagining things, Aranea has Luna fight Gladio and then Prompto. If anything, Luna’s had less combat experience than her brother, but she’s not having any trouble giving as good as she gets.

“Okay. We’re gonna settle this once and for all. Ravus, Ignis, go.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Prompto asks as Ravus and Ignis square off.

Gladio shrugs. “They’ll settle their differences like gentlemen one way or another. Either they figure it out, or end up kissing. No matter what, it’s a win-win.”

Prompto stifles a snicker. “True.”

Ravus hasn’t got a full Armiger to pull from, so Ignis only has one weapon to contend with. Ravus’ sword is long enough to merit two hands, but he only uses one. Ignis can’t decide if that has to do with his prosthetic or not. They duck and dodge, evading more than trading actual blows. Ravus’ efforts to hit him seem half-hearted at best.

“Ravus what are you _doing?_ ” Aranea demands. “This isn’t a ballroom!”

“I… We…” he stammers and gestures pointedly at Ignis with a frustrated noise.

“What? You don’t want to hit your visually-impaired crush?”

“I beg your pardon!” Ignis says, affronted. Yet that seems to be exactly the problem.

“I almost _killed_ somebody last time!” Ravus bursts out. “I could not live with myself if I--”

“Dude,” Prompto cuts him off. “Do you _know_ how many times I clipped Gladio in training? Or how many times Iggy sliced himself cooking? You’re only shit at magic ‘cause you never got a chance to practice. Don’t stress about it.”

Ravus looks to the others as if expecting them to back him up, but everyone takes Prompto’s side.

“Remember the time Noct fried me with a lightning spell?” Gladio recalls.

Prompto snickers. “Better you than me. Or the time he snagged Ignis’ glasses with a fishing lure?”

“We’ve all made mistakes, had accidents, that’s part of the process,” Ignis says gently. “I know you would never intentionally harm any of us. Now then.” He sinks down into a ready stance, knives poised, and drops his voice. “At the risk of seeming forward, let’s see how long it takes you to put me on my back.”

Ignis swears he can _hear_ Ravus blush. Oddly enough, the remark seems to have given him the motivation he needs. Ravus certainly isn’t holding back now. Ignis has to vault out of the way as the broadsword comes down. It’s a big weapon, but Ravus is strong, making up for what would be a limitation of the size and weight of the sword. He wields it almost like a rapier, stabbing more than he slashes. It’s a feint all on its own; anyone else would be forced to follow through in a given direction, but Ravus isn’t.

“Five gil says they kiss,” Gladio mutters.

“Ten says we have to separate them,” Prompto adds.

“At this rate _I’m_ gonna need the cold shower,” Aranea agrees.

Their remarks go largely ignored, Ignis is too busy keeping Ravus at bay. So far he’s stuck mostly with defense. Like Gladio and Prompto, Ravus is far more dangerous when at a distance. Still, he handles his sword as easily as Ignis handles his knives. Letting him closer won’t necessarily make things easier.

The force of Ravus’ swing makes Ignis’ arms shiver. It isn’t easy to throw him back. Ravus stabs, Ignis flips back, already drawing his knives up to defend himself. He’ll need to try to dodge close, past Ravus’ long reach. Ignis twirls, leaps, and presses his forearm instead of the blade of his knife to Ravus’ throat.

“Do you yield?”

“Do you?”

It takes Ignis a minute to realize that the butt of Ravus’ sword is pushing into his middle.

“Best two out of three?”

Ignis blinks. Is Ravus _smiling?_ Did he just see that? Surely not.

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!” Aranea shouts from the sidelines. Gladio, Prompto, and Luna offer enthusiastic applause. “Nothin’ wrong with your sword arm. Now we just gotta figure out the magic angle.”

\--

Like so many things, magic is simple in theory. Except Ravus doesn’t really understand the theory. So far as Ignis can tell, Ravus has only had the most basic instruction, just enough to keep him from hurting himself or others. He can understand that Luna would have been the priority, and that Ravus’ education, while important, was secondary to that of his sister. For the thousandth time, Ignis wishes they had the books he’d smuggled to Noctis as a child, or access to the Tenebrae library. It would at least be something to work from besides his own memory. Luna does her best to help, to demonstrate, but it’s slow going.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” Ravus says after a frustrating session. “I was never meant to wield magic.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis tells him, hoping to inspire comfort as well as confidence. “You’re just new at it, that’s all. It takes practice like anything else.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but truly, this isn’t for me.” Ravus stands to leave.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Luna says. “You’ll feel better after a night’s rest.”

“Stop trying to placate me, both of you!” It isn’t quite a snarl, but it’s obvious his patience is at an end.

“Ravus…” Luna sounds hurt and confused. “Dearest, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I only wish the two of you would stop trying to hone a skill I don’t have.”

“You’ve got the raw power,” Ignis points out. “It’s simply a matter of learning to direct it.”

“And I have,” Ravus insists. “Luna’s learned to draw it from me. I’d much rather she make use of it. I don’t want to cause more injury.”

“Ravus, that was _one time_ ,” Lunafreya huffs.

“It was one time too many. This is not an ability I wanted or asked for. If I could give it to you fully, I would.”

Ignis can easily picture her shocked expression. It probably mirrors his own.

“What’s brought this on?” She goes over to him. Pulling him down onto a bench, she strokes a hand over his hair. “Please, tell me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It isn’t. What’s wrong?”

Ravus sighs and rubs his face with both hands. “At the last tomb, I found an inscription there that I recognized.”

“Recognized?” Luna echoes. “You mean you had seen the inscription before?”

Ravus nods. “I remember my tutor drilling the lines into my head in both Common and Old Sol, and then mother sending her packing for teaching me such nonsense.”

“What was it?”

“Some ancient passage of common law. One of those things that’s been on record for so long, it’s obeyed by rote without thought or question.”

Something niggles at the back of Ignis’ memory. He thinks he might know where this is going. 

“Are you going to tell us what this nonsense was?”

Ravus sighs and quotes: “ _Let no man be taught the art of magic, for fear he will become corrupted by its power._ ”

Ignis doesn’t need to see Luna blink. The slight jerk of her head says it all.

“Mother was right. That is utter nonsense. Who on Eos would make an edict like that and _why?_ ”

“Somnus Lucis Caelum,” Ignis replies, having finally dragged the appropriate memory out of the recesses of his brain. “I seem to recall a plaque in the Citadel with a list of ancient decrees. At the time, I didn’t pay much heed to it. If I had to guess, the law would have been to help solidify Somnus’ power and to prevent a second Adagium.”

Luna nods thoughtfully. “That would make sense. Only the Kings of Lucis and the Oracle have ever been able to wield magic. If only one son- presumably the heir to the Lucian throne- was ever taught to use that magic, it would reduce the risk of family infighting over the line of succession.”

“Among other things,” Ignis agrees.

“I won’t be the cause of your downfall,” Ravus vows. “I cannot risk harming you.”

“Ravus.” Luna’s tone is fond, patient, and not a little exasperated. “You are the last man on Eos who would dream of abusing power. You’re like to do more harm by remaining untrained than you would in learning to properly harness and utilize your gift. I trust you. We all do. Trust yourself.”

Ravus’ voice is uncharacteristically small. “I do not trust myself. My heart is traitorous and fickle. Too often I seek my own will instead of what is best for you. This is not a power I am fit to wield.”

Luna hugs him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Don’t be so dramatic. If you truly feel that way, then by all means, lend me the bulk of your power. However, I want you to learn to use what you have left. Once upon a time there were male healers on Eos. Perhaps there ought to be again.”

Ravus shudders. “And what if I do become corrupted?”

“Then I will purge your guilty conscience,” Luna tells him, stretching to kiss his cheek. “I am not asking you to become a Summoner, or even to pull rabbites out of hats. I am asking you to learn enough control to protect yourself and others. That is all. Surely there is no harm in that?”

Ravus considers this and grudgingly nods. “I suppose not.”

“There now.” Ignis can feel the smile in her words. “You’ll be fine. I believe in you.”

“As do I,” Ignis adds.

Perhaps it’s his imagination, but he swears he can see Ravus smile.


	27. Volatile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys have an issue blow up in their faces.

If anyone has moved to fill the empty space that Noctis has left, it’s Luna. Ignis may be acting regent, but he’s under no illusions as to who is really in charge. Luna is Oracle, Queen, the last monarch still standing. There’s Ravus of course, but he never encroaches on his sister’s spotlight. She’s the important one, not him. Sometimes Ignis wishes he could persuade him otherwise.

“I’ll stay,” Ravus volunteers as they discuss plans to visit the next tomb.

There are only the two in Leide, and two in Cavaugh left. The Glaives have dutifully sent photos of the one in Tenebrae. Noctis is still encased in stone with no sign of moving, and he’d be twenty-two by now. Ignis feels more like forty-five than twenty-five; an old man in a young man’s body. The light continues to fade, but it’s not the full blackout apocalypse that everyone had feared. They may well get to that stage, but it’s clear now that as long as they have Luna, it shouldn’t happen right away. They have time.

They have so much time that Iris has gone to train with Aranea. Luna doesn’t really need a lady’s maid so badly now that the triage system is in place. The whole city adores her; indeed, she has the affection of most of Eos. Iris needs the battle experience and Aranea can be trusted. She’ll be in good hands. That doesn’t make it any easier for Gladio to see her off. The table feels empty without her.

The Tomb of the Conqueror is farther away, but the enemies occupying the Keycatrich Trench are considerably less menacing than those lurking in the Balouve Mines. The Tomb of the Clever is closer, but Ignis is not going to rush to face off with an Aramusha again- not that an Arachne is much of an improvement.

“Don’t be absurd,” Ignis tells him. “I’ll stay.”

He can hear Gladio facepalm off to one side.

“You know, I think I liked it better when you used to fight to come along. Now you’re trying to out-polite each other and I didn’t think that was even possible.”

“Unless you’re planning to make this a smaller party, I see no reason why both of you cannot go,” Luna says. “Surely a four man team is safer than two or three?”

Ignis notes that she doesn’t even try to invite herself. Her duty is here, healing her people of starscourge. He wishes he knew the secret of her humility. At his elbow, Ravus fidgets. He still hasn’t let himself forget about the incident with Prompto. Reaching, Ignis lays a hand on his arm. Ravus stills at once. Gladio takes that as his cue to continue.

“Okay, so all of us. We post an extra detail of MTs to Luna just to be on the safe side. Where are we goin’ first? Farther but easier, or closer but harder?”

“Why not go all the way to Keycatrich and then backtrack?” Ignis suggests. “If we’re feeling up to it, we can tackle the mines on our way back. If not, we can simply head for home and try another day.”

Everyone exchanges glances around the table.

“All those in favor?”

The vote is unanimous, motion carried.

There’s a _BANG_ loud enough to make the windows rattle. Everyone starts from their seats. Ignis’ knives are in his hands and he can feel Gladio’s and Prompto’s weapons missing from the armiger as well.

“The hell was that?” Gladio demands.

“The power plant?” Ravus suggests.

Prompto’s outline edges toward the window, leans back against the wall and cranes to look without making himself a target. At once he abandons all caution and plasters himself against the glass.

“Oh shit!”

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s the MT village!” He takes off at a run, and they all follow.

\--

Ignis has to stop short when he loses his friends in the milling crowd.

“Gladio! Prompto!”

Steel fingers take his arm. “They’ve gone ahead,” Ravus tells him. “There’s quite a crowd. Hang on to me.”

Ordinarily Ignis would protest, but now is not the time. He finds Ravus’ elbow, mindful of the mechanical joint, and holds tight.

“Lead the way.”

“There’s smoke rising from the car park,” Ravus says as they elbow past gawkers and emergency personnel. “I can’t tell if anything’s actively on fire from here. Looks like someone’s dialed the chemical unit from the fire department just in case. I can see the truck.”

“Sabotage, do you think?” Ignis asks, worried. “Terrorism? Hate crime? Six willing, it was just a freak accident and someone’s exploded one of the sterno cookers.”

“One can hope,” Ravus agrees.

Except it doesn’t seem likely. The blast was far too heavy to have been a camp stove. There isn’t much that’s flammable in the MT village besides the residue of oil and petrol that’s soaked into the concrete of the car park, and perhaps the fuel cells of the drop ships. _Something_ must be on fire. Ignis can feel the heat and smell the stench of burning synthetics from here.

“I don’t think it was the sterno…”

“What’s happened,” Ignis presses, hand clenching Ravus’ metal arm. “Tell me!”

“I can only tell you what I see, and that isn’t much. There’s a great deal of smoke- thick, black, and oily. The fire brigade is engaged in putting out the conflagration. It’s hard to tell from here, but I think there’s been a fuel spill. Perhaps one of the drop ships caught flame?”

“That would explain the blast. Where are the survivors?”

Ravus strains to see above so many heads. “I can’t-- there! Looks like most of them have been herded under a tarp.”

“Take me to them.”

Ignis is tall, but Ravus is huge and royalty besides. No matter what he may think of his own title, the crowd parts for him as if Ramuh himself approached. Before long they’re away from the worst of the press and Ignis can finally begin to make sense of what’s what again. There’s a milling blob of movement that he takes to be the surviving MTs. The outline of their helmets is unmistakable. A few of them snap-to and salute as they spot Ignis and Ravus.

“Sir!” a familiar voice calls out. Ignis reaches his free hand and feels another pair of hands encased in gloves take hold.

“Sir, it’s Chris!”

They all sound like Prompto to some degree, but there’s subtle differences in inflection and timbre to each voice. Gladio can observe the physical markers, but Ignis has learned to identify quite a few of the MTs by voice and gesture. He’s pretty sure this isn’t Chris, it’s…

“Eugene?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He lets go of Ravus, takes Eugene’s trembling hands in both of his. “It’s alright. Calm down. Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know.” He doesn’t have to see the tears streaming down Eugene’s face to know they’re there. “He just… He just…”

“Steady,” Ravus says gently, his massive shape moving to stand beside Eugene. Ignis glimpses their silhouettes as Ravus moves to put a hand on Eugene’s shoulder. His head is barely level with Ravus’ chin. Eugene heaves a shaky breath and tries to compose himself.

“Report as best you can,” Ignis presses. “Tell me what you know.”

Eugene nods and takes an additional minute to collect himself.

“Chris had complained of malfunctions. Our mechanics serviced him and found no outstanding issues for his production year and model number. He was functional, serviceable, but he disagreed. It was suggested he retire to one of the drop ships to recharge. It was felt his eating only human food might be the cause of his malfunction. He had been charging for an hour when... when…”

Eugene breaks down into a half-swallowed sob. Ignis finds his shoulder and pats it while Eugene collects himself.

“He detonated. I don’t know why. He just...blew up. No one else was in the drop-ship with him. The fuel cell ignited and exploded. That’s what caused the fire.”

It isn’t easy to find his voice, to scavenge words of comfort. Ignis is about to say something when Eugene speaks again.

“He was the same production year as me. Same lot. I can’t… I don’t…”

“You won’t die,” Ignis assures him gently. It’s not a promise he can make, but he _wants_ it to be true, will do everything in his power to make it so, and that’s got to count for something.

“What is your production year?” Ravus asks.

“728, October,” Eugene says.

Ignis blinks. Eugene’s the same age as Ravus. Do MTs have a lifespan? Is it shorter or longer than that of a standard human? Will the others spontaneously combust, or was Chris an unhappy accident?

“Is this common among MTs?”

Eugene shakes his head. “I don’t know. There aren’t many MTs in rank whose production year goes back farther. At present, they have not reported any malfunctions.”

Ignis allows himself a small sigh of relief. Perhaps Chris is a special case then; tragic, but unique. It’s perversely fortunate that the disaster has happened during daylight hours. The last thing they need is a daemon wreaking havoc within the city walls. Ignis recalls that all the MTs run on starscourge- Prompto included- and that such a thing is a possibility. The thought makes him shiver, prompting Ravus to put his free hand on Ignis’ shoulder.

Ignis takes a breath and feels himself slide into Chancellor Mode. “It’s alright,” he repeats. “An inquiry will be made. We’ll figure out what happened and find a way to keep it from happening again. In the meantime, all of you will get sunburned standing around like this. Has everyone got their armor?”

Eugene keeps his hair cut short, and the motion of his head as it moves without the followthrough of unruly spikes and curls seems strange.

“No, Sir.”

There isn’t much immediately close to the car park where the MTs can shelter. The nearest thing Ignis can think of is the garage for the beach plows and farther down, the dry dock for boats.

“Ravus, commandere some space for them where they can shelter until further notice. The dry dock, the community center, whatever’s available. I’m going to stay with them for right now.”

On the brink of arguing, Ravus nods and turns to go. “I’ll be back.”

Ignis smiles for him. “I’ll be here.” Unless another MT spontaneously combusts, there’s no safer place for him to be. Once Ravus has gone, Ignis thumbs the lock on his phone and dictates texts to Gladio and Prompto. They ping back almost immediately.

 **BeefNoodle:** Fire out but too much smoke. Gotta wait to inspt.

 **PhotoPhan119:** Whr u @?

 **IronChefSpecs:** With MTs.

 **BeefNoodle:** Stay there. Gonna help CSI guys

 **IronChefSpecs:** Eugene says the fire was accidental. I’ll give details in person.

 **PhotoPhan119:** Cool

 **IronChefSpecs:** Please collect armor and masks. Some MTs not dressed.

 **PhotoPhan119:** Will do

Ravus returns before Prompto and Gladio.

“I’ve found them space at the dry dock. I thought that might be better since it’s a bit closer.”

There’s unspoken nerves in his voice. Closer to the car park, not closer to the civilians. Now that one MT’s gone up, the rest will be suspect. It seems mean-spirited to house them with vehicles and heavy lifting equipment. For all the view themselves as people now, the MTs still don’t consider themselves human, and will be more at ease among other machines.

“Very good. Prompto’s coming with armor for those who don’t have any. Until then, we’ll wait in place.”

It takes another hour for Prompto and Gladio to arrive, smelling strongly of oil- or perhaps it’s the soot-blasted pieces of armor they bring with them.

“Sorry for the wait guys,” Prompto says, pausing long enough to pat Ignis’ arm to let him know he’s really there. “The explosion blew shit everywhere.”

There’s a rippled chorus of “Prompto!” as the MTs reach for him. He’s the only one they’ve ever learned to address by name. Perhaps it’s because they see him as one of their own, and not a ‘full’ human like Ignis or Gladio. Ignis idly wonders what they make of Ravus with his prosthetic arm.

“It’s okay guys, it’s okay,” Prompto assures them, accepting and giving several hugs before he can pass out his armful of helmets. “Who’s not decent? I don’t want anybody else getting hurt on the way to your new digs.”

“Digs?” someone repeats. “Will we be making trenches?”

“No dude,” Prompto’s tone is gentle. “Sorry, figure of speech. You can stay in the dry dock building until the surveyors say the car park is safe to go back to.”

“I’ve arranged for food and generators to be brought there,” Ignis says, hanging up his phone. “That way everyone can have a snack of their choice and a chance to recover a bit. I think it’s safe to say we’ve all had a bit of a shock.”

Prompto wants to stay with them until they get settled, but they need an MT expert to examine the car park along with the police.

“Go,” Ignis tells him. “Take Gladio with you. I’ll stay here with them.”


	28. Killing With Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys and Luna discover a design flaw.

Ignis spends the next hour on the phone with various people. The food, blankets, and generators arrive. Those who want to rest can curl up and be comfortable. Those who need to do something with their nervous energy assist him in making snacks for everyone. Before long, the MTs are fed and settled. As much as can be expected, anyway.

There are a handful of technicians among them, and they are busy going over each of their fellows with the proverbial fine-toothed comb. The MTs want no more disasters, and Ignis cannot blame them. He’d rather not have any more disasters either. He could return to his office and wait for their report, but he doesn’t want to leave until he has all available information. Besides, Gladio and Prompto should be done soon. The MTs will want to hear whatever they have to share.

The room falls silent and there’s the heavy shift of boots and armor as the MTs stand and snap to. Ignis turns to see a female outline cross the threshold.

“Luna,” Ravus says, going to greet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see that everyone’s alright,” she replies. “Perhaps there is something I can do to help?”

“The MT diagnostics are looking over everyone now,” Ignis tells her. “So far so good.”

“Do we know what happened?”

“We’re still waiting on Gladio and Prompto. According to the MTs, one of their fellows spontaneously combusted. We’ve no idea why. I hope Gladio and Prompto may be able to tell us that.”

Her ponytail flutters as she nods. “I’d like to visit with them, if you think it would be appropriate.”

Ignis steps back. “Of course, your Majesty.”

Perhaps out of habit, Ravus offers her his arm and she takes it. Luna is something of a legendary being to the MTs, a goddess, a creature so wonderful and so alien that they cannot fully comprehend her. They rise as she approaches, unsure if they ought to salute or not. Luna speaks softly to them, gentle words that Ignis cannot make out, but he can see the flicker of movement as the MT’s shuffle and their posture relaxes.

Ignis knows there is nothing to fear. None of the MTs- now that they know their own minds- would ever hurt Luna, or anyone else for that matter. They’re all a little rattled after what’s happened and if Luna can ease their fears, so be it. His paranoia assuaged, Ignis turns back to assisting in preparing the next meal.

A few minutes later, Ravus’ heavy tread announces the prince’s return.

“Everything in hand?” Ignis asks.

There’s a flutter of hair and dip of chin as Ravus nods. “I think so. They’re a little overwhelmed at having Luna visit, but they positively worship her.”

Ignis smiles. Lunafreya does indeed have the most devoted subjects in the liberated MTs. He freezes suddenly, a familiar sound having snagged his attention. He can’t decipher the words but he doesn’t need to. The cadence of the speech is all he needs:

“ _Blessed stars of light and life…_ ”

The MT’s run on starscourge.

“ _LUNA NO!_ ”

There’s too much distance between him and Luna, but Ignis lunges for her anyway. Ravus notices at the same time. He dives forward, tackling his sister to the ground. They land in a massive shockwave of magic that bowls Ignis over and clear of the blast as the MT’s body explodes. It takes a minute for things to stop vibrating. The magical charge hangs thick in the air like static during a storm. Ignis picks himself up and puts a hand out only to discover ice. Thick, cold, solid ice. He puts his other hand out and realizes he can _see_ the ice! Rather, he can see the fading after-image of an unbelievably powerful burst of magic. It rises above his head in a sort of oversized igloo. Someone groans and shifts off to one side. 

“Luna?” Ravus sounds groggy. Perhaps he’s been injured?

“I’m fine,” comes Luna’s voice, more than a little shaken. “What on Eos?”

“The MTs run on starscourge,” Ignis says simply. He can feel them both staring at him. He follows it up with a simple: “So does Prompto.”

It explains enough; why he didn’t tell them, why he didn’t tell _anyone_ , why they kept Prompto’s secret despite the potential danger it poses. Ravus and Luna do not respond, just scrape themselves off the floor- or try to. Ravus makes it to hands and knees before shakily falling back onto his rear.

“Rest,” Luna tells him, draping an arm across his broad shoulders. “I’m sure that took a lot out of you.”

“Wait, this ice wasn’t you?”

He can see the swift shake of her head. “Not a bit. This is all Ravus.”

She sounds proud. Ignis can’t help feeling impressed as well. Ravus shifts so that his head is hanging between his knees. Reaching, Ignis rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t feel well,” Ravus admits.

“Given that you blasted all your MP at once, I don’t doubt it.” Luna stands and examines the wall of ice. “This won’t be easy to undo.”

“Perhaps you could draw some of the magic back?” Ignis suggests.

“I don’t want it,” Ravus slurs. “I can’t do magic.”

“Dearest, you just _did_ ,” Luna insists, exasperated. She kneels down and puts her arms around her brother. “You were able to save Ignis and myself. You were able to call upon and use your power when you needed it. It’s no different than pulling your sword.”

Ravus mulls that over for a moment. “I suppose.”

“It’s dangerous to go unarmed,” Luna reminds him. “And foolish to allow oneself to become depleted, as you’ve told me over and over again.”

Ravus huffs a small laugh and lifts his head. He sways into Ignis, who has to work to keep him upright.

“See if you can draw a little off,” Ignis suggests, as Ravus tries to recover his balance. “That will help with the light-headedness.”

Ravus sighs and reaches out to touch the ice. This close, Ignis can both see and feel the exchange of magical energy as Ravus draws it back into himself. The wall of ice begins to vaporize, leaving a wet ring of melting ice around them. Ravus collapses back against him with a groan.

“I feel sick, as if I’d eaten too much.”

Ignis pats his shoulder. “It’ll pass. Give yourself a moment to rest.”

Now that the ice is melting, Ignis can hear the chaos on the other side. Something is on fire, if the sudden blast of heat and smoke is any indication. A moment later he realizes that’s not the drip of melting ice, but the full cold spray of emergency sprinklers. There are shouts and the sound of crying on all sides. Someone’s calling his name.

“IGNIS!”

“Here!” he shouts back. “We’re over here! We’re alright!”

“Ignis!” The voice is Gladio’s, as are the strong arms that latch around him and then hastily pat him down. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. See to Ravus and Luna. The ice spell was too much for him.”

“I’m fine,” Ravus grumbles, “give over.”

“Hey Gladio, wanna trade?” That’s Prompto. There’s no possible way he can lift Ravus to his feet. It only makes sense that they swap places. Someone takes his arm. The hands are delicate, but too small to be Prompto’s.

“Is there somewhere safe we can go?”

“Next building over is fine,” Prompto says. “There’s a giant hole in the wall and the roof in here. You guys get to safety, we’ll direct traffic.”

For once, Ignis does not argue the point. He finds the exit amid smoke that does nothing to impair vision he doesn’t have. If anything, the spray from the water makes it easier than it might be otherwise.

A team of firefighters meet them in the hall and all but bodily carry them outside. Ignis latches on to Luna out of pure instinct. If it were Noct in his arms, he’d react the same way. Despite not being able to see it, the Lestallum sun is an almost physical blow after the cool, dim interior of the dry dock.

“It was my fault!” Luna shouts at once. “It was an accident! An _accident!_ I am to blame!”

“Your Majesty, _not now!_ ” Ignis tells her urgently. “Where’s Ravus?”

“Here.” He sounds tired and wrung-out. “I don’t… don’t…”

EMTs swarm him, but Luna beats them there.

“Oh Ravus no!”

Alarm spikes up Ignis’ spine, piercing his heart. Has Ravus been injured after all?

“You okay?” Gladio- who still has Ravus’ right arm slung over his shoulders- asks.

“It’ll pass,” Ravus gasps. He waves the EMTs away, or tries to. His prosthetic appears to have been damaged. He can’t manage to lift it very far. Ravus’ breathing seems ragged and too-deep. That’s not exhaustion, Ignis realizes, that’s _pain_. The EMTs step back and then Ignis sees it: a roiling knot of magic at the joint where flesh and bone meets metal and plastic. Ignis’ panic evaporates into sympathy. Of all the rotten timing.

“See to him,” Ignis says. “We can manage.”

Luna nods and Ravus allows a couple of EMTs to lead him away.

“The hell happened?” Gladio asks once the EMTs have gone. “Did someone else spontaneously combust? How worried do we need to be?”

“Not very. I’m afraid that was my fault,” Luna says. “I tried to bless one of them. I didn’t realize…” She trails off, unwilling to say it out loud. Even from here, Ignis can feel the sudden tension from Prompto and Gladio.

“Yeah,” Gladio says at last. “That’d do it.”

“Now what?” Prompto asks.

Ignis fights to engage his inner Chancellor, but it’s hard.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to isolate the MTs, but we treat them as _victims_ in this, not perpetrators. So far as we know, both instances were freak accidents.”

“I disabled their programming, not their failsafes,” Prompto admits. “We can get started on that right now.”

Ignis nods. “Do it. What did you find at the parking garage?”

“Looks like exactly what we thought: a freak accident. The guy who blew was one of the older models who knew he wasn’t operating correctly. Nobody else has complained of anything similar.”

“Very good.”

“What about…?” Prompto hedges.

“No. No, we’re not releasing anything else. It is immaterial to the situation.”

“Is it?” Gladio asks softly. “Ignis… I love them as much as you do, but is it really safe for them here?”

It hurts, but what he says is true. It isn’t safe here, not for the citizens, and certainly not for the MTs. What else can be done? He needs time; time to sort this out, time to think.

“Let’s get everyone dry and organized first,” Ignis decides. “Nothing happens until after we’ve completed an investigation of both explosions.”

“And if the truth comes out?” Prompto asks.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, or to the MTs,” Ignis vows. “I promise.”

But is it a promise he can keep?


	29. Lip Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Ignis' turn to help.

Ignis gives his statement to Holly, to the press, to those conducting the investigation. Both incidents are ruled an accident, and the MTs are each examined to make sure there will be no more explosions. No one else knows the MTs run on starscourge, but that isn’t likely to last long. All of Lestallum is jumpy now, afraid that each and every MT is going to explode at random. It’s a concern that is justified, and one that cannot be ignored.

“We should go,” Eugene says. The heads of state and MT leaders are sequestered in one of the town hall conference rooms. “Everyone’s afraid of us.”

“The offer of shelter outside the city walls is still an option,” Holly offers.

Eugene shakes his head. “That’s kind of you ma’am, but it wouldn’t solve anything. Proximity makes us a threat. People think we’re dangerous. No one is going to want us close by. We will go.”

“Where?” Ignis asks. He almost misses the ghost of Eugene’s shrug. “That’s not acceptable. If you’re dead set on going, you need a destination. I could not live with myself if the lot of you simply wandered off into the sunset.”

Eugene’s good with slang and the other nuances of human speech, but there are still some remarks that throw him. “Sir?”

“He means just because you can’t stay here doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have somewhere safe to live,” Holly explains.

“Let me make some inquiries first,” Ignis presses. “I’m sure there’s somewhere safe that you can stay.”

\--

Ignis, Gladio, Prompto, and Holly spend the rest of the day trying to organize chaos. There are citizens to assure, maintenance to be performed on the surviving MTs, and a rash of backlash that must be dealt with. A lot of it, strangely, is directed at Prompto. Ignis is indignant on his behalf, and Gladio is just plain angry. Prompto’s not even a full MT. He’s got more remaining organic parts than and of this brothers...cousins...whatever. But that is not finally the point; the MTs should not be judged by how much circuitry they carry. All of them are in the process of having failsafes installed. Turns out there was no detonator per se, just a length of code designed to push their cores past their limits until they explode. Ignis had felt a bit awkward about “fixing” them, as Gladio put it. However, all the MTs seem to have a vested interest in not exploding, and so Ignis lets it go.

In the meantime, there’s a small crowd protesting outside the town hall. Bob keeps well clear of the windows. Someone’s already pitched some rubbish at him. According to him, there’s still pulp from a spoiled tomato, and a couple of greasy strings from a banana peel still clinging to the glass.

“I don’t want to go,” Bob confesses. “I want to stay here with you.”

“I want you to stay as well,” Ignis tells him, except he isn’t sure how he can make that happen. Would it really be safe here for Bob? If the other MTs were staying that would be one thing, but they aren’t. Aside from a few outliers like Bob, they seem set on leaving. Nothing Ignis says will change their minds.

Perhaps it’s selfish of him to want them to stay. The MT’s are Prompto’s family, Ignis’ friends. Yes the explosions were terrible, yes their power source is a potential risk, but that is not the fault of the MTs. They deserve to be safe and secure just as much as anyone else. It isn’t right and it isn’t fair. But he’s got an ever-expanding city and thousands of other people to think of. It’s not within his power to force everyone to get along.

But he knows someone who _does_ hold that power.

Luna isn’t in her office, which Ignis had expected. She’s not blessing the public either, which he had not expected. Instead, her secretary informs Ignis that she is ministering to her brother at their room at the Leville. It takes Ignis a belated second to remember why and he mentally kicks himself. Of course neither of them would be on duty today. Poor Ravus must be absolutely miserable. He can wait to talk to Luna regarding the MTs. The longer he can put off deciding what to do with them, the better. However, it might be polite to inquire about Ravus.

 **IronChefSpecs:** How’s Ravus?

 **MurderFork:** OK

 **IronChefSpecs:** Can I bring you anything?

 **MurderFork:** He says no.

 **IronChefSpecs:** Feeling up for company?

 **MurderFork:** I could use a break. Should bless people at some point.

 **IronChefSpecs:** Will be over. I’ll bring food.

 **MurderFork:** Bless

\--

Luna greets him once he makes it past the guards- all standard human now, and Ignis isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“Thank you so much for coming,” she says, drawing him into the room with one hand. “What’ve you brought? It smells divine.”

“Chiatrice soup. Best thing when you’re feeling under the weather.” Admittedly, a magical scar isn’t quite the same thing, but still.

“Thank you.” Luna takes the bag and sets it aside. There’s an indistinct groan from somewhere deeper in the room.

“How is he?”

Luna sighs. “Miserable. I’ve drawn off as much excess magic as I could for him and I feel like I’m going to burst. If I can dispel some of it by blessing people, so much the better. Can you sit with him for an hour or two? I’ll come back and finish out.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

He swears he can almost see her smile. “Luna.”

Ignis smiles himself. “Luna.”

Luna vanishes out the door leaving Ignis alone in the suite. It’s fine, he knows his way around. He’s been in here before. Still, it’s been awhile, and he stretches one hand out in front of him just to be on the safe side. However, his memory does not deceive him. Two dozen steps across the parlor. Luna’s bedroom is on the left, Ravus’ on the right. Ignis knocks softly to announce his presence before pushing the door open.

It’s a dozen steps from the door to the foot of the big queen-sized bed. There’s a flicker of movement as Ravus lifts his head and tries to sit up.

“Ignis.” Despite the weariness in his voice, he sounds unaccountably pleased.

“I would have come earlier, but…” Ignis offers a helpless shrug. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Ravus grunts, clumsily shoving himself upright. It takes Ignis a moment to realize he’s not wearing his prosthetic. Perhaps it’s too painful right now. Ignis goes over and helps him get settled.

“Thank you. It’s a miserable business, but if this is the price for keeping Luna safe, so be it.”

Ignis nods. “I quite agree.”

“It’s better than it was this morning,” Ravus goes on. “Nothing to do now but wait for it to be over.”

He can’t see Ravu’s expression, but he can feel the fever heat radiating from his body. He can see the burn of magic smoldering in his shoulder. Ignis has no magic powers, is useless when it comes to anything outside of magic theory. He is, however, a fully certified nurse. There are still things he can do if Ravus will allow him.

“Would you like something to eat? I brought food.”

Ravus shakes his head, the movement small and tired. “Not right now.”

“Alright. May I?” Ignis lifts a hand and holds it level with Ravus’ forehead. He swears he can see Ravus smile.

“If you must. I’d tell you not to fuss, but that’s like telling a Zuu not to fly.”

Ignis chuckles and goes about giving Ravus a quick once-over. He’s hot and sweaty and his hair feels greasy. The pillow behind him is flat and damp, and he’s certain the bed must be in quite a state.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Ravus mumbles as Ignis completes his checks.

Ignis smiles. “I can’t.”

Ravus snorts a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“You do know that before anything else, I am nurse and valet to Noctis. This is what I’ve been trained to do: take care of the people important to me.”

Is he...blushing? Ignis swears he can detect heat rising in the larger man’s face.

“Well, when you put it like that.”

“Would you permit me to fuss a bit more?”

“If it would make you happy.”

“It would. I think it would make you feel better as well.”

“Alright.”

Ignis fumbles for the phone on the bedside table, dials the front desk, and asks that clean sheets be sent up. Then he finds the bathroom and returns to the bedroom with a damp washcloth. He helps Ravus sponge away the worst of the heat and sweat, being mindful of his shoulder. All he can do with Ravus’ hair right now is brush it. He’ll have a proper wash once he’s feeling better. The sheets arrive, delivered by a guard who knocks quietly on the bedroom door. Ignis takes them from him and feels his way around the bed.

“What are you doing?” Ravus asks.

“Changing the sheets.”

“Do you need me to get up?” he tries to move, but it’s obviously difficult and painful.

“No, no, stay where you are,” Ignis rests one hand on Ravu’s chest and gently pushes him back onto the pillows. “Just watch. I’m rather good at this.”

Ravus is currently situated on the left side of the bed. Therefore, Ignis tackles the right side first. He pulls the old sheets free and stretches the clean sheets over the now bared mattress. Ordinarily, Ignis would roll Ravus to the made side of the bed, but there’s his shoulder to worry about. Without thinking, he rests one knee on the bed and loops a careful arm around Ravus’ torso and another under his knees. Ravus is big, bigger even than Gladio, but not too big that Ignis can’t pull him a few inches across the bed. Before Ravus can ask or protest, he’s lying on clean sheets, and Ignis is attacking the other side of the bed.

“Color me impressed,” he remarks.

Ignis has to lean close to Ravus’ face to tuck in the sheets and swap out the pillows.

“You really are good at this.”

There’s a flutter just in front of his eyes. It’s faint and fitful, but at once revelation flashes in Ignis’ mind like a bright light: the flutter is timed to Ravus’ speech. The movement is that of his lips; he can see Ravus’ lips. He’s never had this sort of fine detail before. Faces are lost to him now, and this unexpected gift makes his throat constrict. Without thought, he reaches to touch the flicker of movement.

“Ignis?” Ravus sounds a bit muffled, as well he might with Ignis’ fingers over his mouth.

At once Ignis jerks his hand back. “Excuse me.”

Ravus catches his wrist. “No, what is it?”

“I...I could see your mouth moving,” he admits, averting his eyes. The empty void seems the lesser embarrassment.

“Could you?” Ravus sounds intrigued. “Please, by all means.” He places Ignis’ fingers against his bottom lip. “Although I warn you, it might make me difficult to understand.”

He can feel the smile as Ravus’ lips tighten and curve upward. Ignis swallows hard on the lump in his throat. Rather than hide the motion with his fingers, he slides his hand over so that Ravus’ cheek is beneath his palm. Only Ignis’ thumb lingers at the corner of Ravus’ mouth to trace the movement of his lips and jaw as he speaks. The prick of stubble bites at his fingers, but Ignis ignores it.

“You must be improving if you can discern such subtle movement.”

He’s close enough to feel the warmth of Ravus’ breath on his face. Maybe Ignis is recovering, little by little. The human body is a strange and wonderful thing. Although Ignis doubts he will ever see things as he once did, it’s something. The flutter has vanished, though Ignis can still feel the smile. He sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Please, keep talking.”

Ravus chuckles. “I confess that’s a request I’ve not had often. What shall I say?”

“Anything,” Ignis pleads. He just wants to go on watching; feeling his brain synching the movement to the words.

“Shall I recite?”

“If you like.”

“Did you study poetry at all?”

“Some,” Ignis shrugs. “Not since I was in school.”

Ravus tsk’s. “You should be ashamed, Scientia. What good is a man with no poetry in his heart?”

It’s true. Tenebraean noble men are expected to be able to read, recite, and compose poetry the way a Lucian woman might be expected to paint or play the piano. Ignis suspects this had all gone out the window when Niflheim invaded Lucis since his own education had been far more utilitarian.

“A man of Lucis is a man of few words, but those he speaks are true and noble,” Ignis quotes. It’s the closest he can get to poetry. Ignis hasn’t been Tenebraen for a long time. He’s lived all his life that matters in Lucis.

Ravus dips his head in a nod. “Fair enough. _What is a man, but fire and force?_ ” he begins. “ _Force and fury govern man, as wisdom and patience govern women._

“ _What is a man, but one who holds up the hand of a woman, who bears the heavy load? Strength she has bestowed upon him, and honor, for who among men is worthy? Let him speak truth, let him speak reason. Let him hear Her words and take them to heart, for Hers are words of wisdom._

“ _Take heed of the cold, men and women. Humble yourselves before ice and storm. Do not hesitate to bend your knee before Her. Shiva’s heart is frozen ice, like a diamond it is bright and cold. Yet her love for her people outshines the sun, the warmth of her kindness is like the summer._

“ _A man on his own is nothing; a man alone is like a wandering wind, without guidance or purpose. Do not despise a gift given, for it was given in love. Do not turn away the gods’ blessing, for theirs is not the wisdom of mortals. Accept what is given with a thankful heart. Scorn not what is given with an open hand, for such a blessing will not come a second time._ ”

Ignis can only stare, mesmerized. Six, he’s not heard that in ages. Lucis is Bahamut’s chosen nation, and it’s been many years indeed since he has heard any part of Shiva’s catechism. At some point, he’s leaned close enough to rest his free hand on Ravus’ chest. Ravus has curled his fingers around it. It’s an intimate posture, and Ignis wonders if he ought to move back? Ravus is still a prince, he’s also unwell, and there are properties to be observed.

“What good is a man?” Ravus’ smile has gone, his muscles pulling down into the softest of frowns.

“You are a prince.”

“I am a man,” Ravus insists. “Neither heir, nor ruler. My sister is Oracle and Queen of a nation that no longer exists. I exist to serve her, as you exist to serve your prince.”

“My prince is gone…” Ignis says quietly. “What good am I to anyone now?”

“You _do_ know we would all be lost without you,” Ravus says, a sarcastic edge to his tone. “You are the voice of reason, the one who guides us in our endeavours. You’re the one who considers our resources; finances, potions, provisions, the miles and hours that must be driven. We would not last ten minutes and you know it.”

“Lunafreya…”

“Is a woman and the Lucians would not listen to her the way they do you,” Ravus finishes. “You know this.”

He does. Gladio and Prompto would never intentionally exclude or belittle Lunafreya. She is royalty, she outranks them, is Noctis’ future wife, and yet it took two weeks and a sound thrashing at the princess’ hand for Gladio to stop using her title as a casual insult. She has no actual say over what’s left of the nation of Lucis. Until Noctis returns, that is Ignis’ responsibility.

“We would be lost without you,” Ravus insists. “A man alone...” He does not finish. They both know how the rest of the verse goes. Yet Ravus isn’t scolding, he’s pleading. It occurs to Ignis that perhaps Ravus is not afraid for a teammate, but for himself. For all of them.

“I wasn’t planning on running away,” Ignis tells him quietly. “So long as I am needed, I’ll continue on.”

Ravus squeezes his fingers. Ignis squeezes back.

“I haven’t thanked you for the help you’ve been to me.”

Ravus shakes his head, stray tresses making a ghostly afterimage of the motion. “Please don’t. It is my pleasure. You have been my left hand. I hope you will allow me to continue.”

“Highness…”

“I have neither country to govern, nor crown to wear,” Ravus reminds him. “I never did. I may be of royal blood, but I am no sovereign. When the light is restored, when my sister sits upon the throne of Tenebrae, then you may ‘Your Highness’ me all you like. Until such a time, my given name is enough.”

Ignis gives a soft little snort of a laugh. Ravus is smiling again. “Alright then. Ravus.”


	30. Exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes go in search of new homes.

It’s Luna who remembers, who saves the day, as it were: “What about Aranea?”

Of course! Aranea’s worked with the Niflheim military. She pilots a drop ship herself. She’ll know what to do with the displaced MTs.

“Sure, they can come with me,” she says upon being briefed on the situation. “Any of them that want to go, that is. Don’t force them to leave. You’re better than that, Specs.”

 

And he is, dammit. He is. The public may be beside itself, but the MTs are people too. They should not be forcibly exiled because of who and what they are. Besides, there are a number of them that have built lives here, who have jobs and friends that have nothing to do with their status as former military slaves.

He tries, but he cannot change the MTs minds. Evidently, the majority has ruled that they must leave. All of them. The MTs pack up their meager belongings, fuel their drop ships, and prepare to depart into the night. Aranea will meet them outside the city limits.

 

“There’s a Hunter outpost that would be happy to have them,” Aranea assures them. “Men who aren’t afraid to travel in the dark will be a huge help. It’ll be a perfect fit.”

“Run it by them once they’ve had the situation explained,” Ignis decrees. “See if they’re amenable.”

“If they go, I go with them.”

The room is very quiet at Prompto’s announcement.

“Not like…forever,” he elaborates. “Just to get them settled, ya know? I can’t just watch them try to fend for themselves.”

“Of course,” Ignis nods. “Gladio will go with you, won’t you Gladio?”

Gladio huffs. “I’d like to see you stop me.”

Gear is packed, preparations made, hugs given. If Ignis holds on a little longer, no one comments. When Gladio and Prompto turn to take their leave, to walk out the doors, it feels like goodbye. It isn’t. They promised. Yet it’s wrenching to watch their shadows retreat and then vanish entirely. A hand descends to his shoulder and Ignis automatically reaches to touch it.

“Ignis,” Ravus says softly, and presses something into his hand. It’s a tissue. His ruined eyes must be watering again. Ignis dabs at his face and balls the tissue in his fist. Ravus squeezes his shoulder.

“They’ll be back.”

“All of them?” Ignis challenges. “We failed them, Ravus. We should have protected them. We owed them that much.”

“They deserved our protection,” Ravus agrees, “but we owe them nothing. Their time with the Empire was not your doing. Do not take the burden of past wrongs that are not yours to right. None of them blame you, or me, or any of us really. They all knew that sooner or later this was bound to happen.”

Ignis nods. Ravus is right and he hates it. Hates that there is nothing he can do about this. Were Noctis here, he might be able to shout down the fear and prejudice. But Noctis isn’t here. There is only Ignis, and despite being the one to manage the paperwork, keep the schedules, and manage every aspect of Noctis’ life and royal duties, Ignis is not a king. He is not even an elected official. He is a nurse, a valet, at most an advisor. An accident of birth and the tragedy of Niflheim conquering Lucis make him a Lord. He is nothing and no one, yet here he is, ruling side by side with the Oracle. He shakes his head to himself. How improbable is life.

\--

Gladio can’t believe he’s doing this, willingly riding into the sunset with Prompto, Aranea, and a couple hundred MTs. This is _insane_ and yet if anyone’s going to survive after dark, it’s the MTs. Some are in full armor, quite a few are wearing helmets, but have foregone their masks. A handful are in civvies; Ignis’ assistant Bob for one. He’s modeled his look after Ignis, or as much as he can given he’s got to wear his light-protective armor. He’s got a button down shirt on underneath the plate mail, and soft leather gloves instead of the gauntlets everyone else wears. His short hair is slicked back from his forehead in a more subtle imitation of Ignis’ style. The poor guy can’t seem to stop crying.

“Hey,” Gladio says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “It’ll be okay.”

“I didn’t want to leave,” Bob says through his tears. “Is it against protocol to be worried about him? Ignis is capable, but…”

“It’s totally acceptable,” Gladio assures him. “We all worry. Iggy’s important. Gotta make sure the guy in charge stays safe, right?”

Bob swallows hard and nods. “Yes. A logical progression of thought.”

Shit, he even sounds like Iggy. For some reason, the MTs either sound like they’ve swallowed a dictionary, or like a badly programmed autotext voice. There’s not a lot of middle ground. A handful don’t speak at all. Bob is one of the more articulate ones, and his vocabulary has only grown while he’s been working with Ignis.

“Do you think we’ll ever be allowed back?”

“Yes,” Gladio says, deciding he wants that to happen and he’ll do whatever he can to make it so. “You know, if you wanted to go back, I’m sure Iggy could find a way to let you stay. Luna could decree it or something. No one would argue with her.”

Bob seems unconvinced. “Perhaps.”

“For real.”

“I am still an MT,” Bob says. “I must wear armor to survive the sun. I could still hurt someone even if I don’t want to. I am as unsafe to the city as it is unsafe for me.”

Gladio huffs a sigh through his nose. Hard to argue with that.

“Look, what happened to Chris n’ Reggie was terrible, but it was an accident, okay? Sometimes...sometimes shit just happens.”

It’s not exactly the most comforting speech, but Bob seems to get what Gladio is aiming for.

“Shit happens,” he repeats. “Misfortune falls at random upon those who deserve it, and those who do not.”

“Yeah, the Astrals are kinda assholes that way,” Gladio agrees. That earns him a smile.

“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Aranea. She’s badass. You’ll like her.”

\--

“And he just turned them out?” Aranea sounds scandalized.

“Not exactly,” Prompto tries to explain. “They kinda exiled themselves, if that makes sense? I think they preemptively showed themselves the door before there could be any kind of backlash. Believe me, Iggy all but got on his knees and begged them to stay. Nothing he said made any difference.”

Aranea shakes her head as she surveys her legions of new men. It’s a little weird to see a couple hundred guys who all look more or less like Prompto. They’ve had time to grow into themselves, however. They may be clones, but they look more like brothers or cousins now when compared to each other. They dress differently, sport different hair styles, and have developed their own mannerisms and quirks. Some are in full armor, others in street clothes, and several in some combination that falls between the two. Three step forward and salute her; a delegate from each camp.

“Ma’am,” one of them says. He’s in half armor, his mask and most of his plate mail missing.

“Aranea, this’s Eugene, Bob, and Charlie. They’re the ones in charge.”

“Good to meet you,” Aranea extends a hand to shake. Eugene and Bob return the gesture, but Charlie- who’s kitted out in full MT gear minus the face plate- just looks at it, confused. She doesn’t press him about it.

“Eugene and his guys worked with town security, Charlie and his guys mostly did daemon defense, and Bob and his guys were mostly service stuff.”

“A pleasure,” Bob says. “I’ve heard great things about you.”

Charlie only offers a guarded little smile and a polite nod.

“Oh-- Charlie only does hand signals,” Prompto hurries to amend. “He can hear just fine, he just doesn’t talk.”

Aranea nods. “Good to know. Biggs and Wedge will get you up to speed and show you where to park your ships. I want everyone suited up at least an hour before sunup, understood?”

She gets two “Yes, Ma’am’s” and three salutes. Six, they remind her of blondie. They march off with Biggs and Wedge to get themselves settled.

“So, how are things?” she asks, turning her attention back to Prompto.

“Okay,” he shrugs. “I mean, aside from the obvious.”

“No movement from Noctis?”

“Nope.”

“Damn, what’s he waiting for?”

Prompto shakes his head. “Dunno. We were trying to figure that out when the explosions happened.”

Aranea’s eyes narrow. “That’s awfully convenient.”

“Wait, you think? We couldn’t find any evidence of foul play. Although the whole place was on fire so we didn’t find much of anything. You think it was a set up?”

“I think you’ve had chronic problems with a certain Niflheim chancellor who couldn’t mask his deamon stench with an entire case of body spray.”

Prompto’s eyes go wide. “Shit! You think Ardyn did it?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Neither would Prompto. Ardyn knows how MTs work- how to make them, and more importantly, how to _break_ them. It would explain the randomness of it all; the utter lack of evidence. His weird smell would be lost in the burnt puddles of fuel and starscourge. Prompto takes out his phone to text Ignis, but there’s virtually no signal and he can’t get the message to send. Damn. He’ll have to try again later.

“There’s no signal,” he grumbles and shoves his phone into his back pocket.

“You can send a message from the ship,” she offers. “Any further developments?”

“With the MTs?”

“With Specs and the prince.”

Prompto groans and rolls his eyes. “I think the last ice age moved faster than they do.”

Aranea can’t help but snicker at that. “And how ‘bout you and Gladio?”

Prompto stops short, shocked into stillness. “Scuse me?” The words come out an octave higher than they should.

She cocks her head, unsure why he’s suddenly gone all squeaky. “How’re you two holding up? Can’t be easy to coordinate everything with Noctis out of commission. I know it’s no small job keeping tabs on Specs, either. Why? What did you think I meant?”

“Oh nothing! Nothing, just...took what you said the wrong way, that’s all.” Prompto’s voice is a little shrill, a little fragile, like he’s narrowly avoided giving away a secret. She eyes him for a moment longer and watches him wilt, his cheeks staining scarlet.

“Is it that obvious?”

“No, more like a lucky guess. How long?”

Prompto shrugs. “I dunno. Since...since a while. I wasn’t really paying attention, it just kinda happened. We’ve been together for so long. We’ve been friends forever and now we’re...more.”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m happy for you!” Aranea smiles and slaps him on the back. Prompto staggers slightly at the impact.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

That earns her a shy smile. “Thanks.”


	31. Inverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Suffocation, noncon, sexual assault, and Ardyn being a general skeez.

He’ll be alone tonight; for the next week easily. It isn’t the amount of work that daunts him. Ignis would happily go on solving problems from feeble dawn to nearly omnipresent dusk, except he knows he can’t. There are limits to his stamina, and he cannot afford to wear himself down. Yet the thought of the empty apartment fills him with dread. It’s foolish, irrational, and there’s nothing he can do to stomp it down.

“Would you care to dine with us?” Luna offers as the day’s business draws to a close. “It’s been so long.”

“I’ve a better idea,” Ignis decides. “Why don’t you come and dine with me?”

The Nox Fleurets accept graciously.

\--

“Oh Ignis, this is charming!” Luna exclaims upon entering the apartment. “Holly told me she’d found room for you at one of the Deco terraces and I confess I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that.”

“Brass knobs and copper pipes,” Ignis supplies the most common explanation given for Lestallum’s habit of turning infrastructure into decore. It’s a bit more Steampunk than Art Deco, but there’s a fair amount of crossover. There’s quite the impressive lattice of pipes above the sofa in the living room. Luna admires it duly before donning an apron to help in the kitchen.

It’s like old times, when they were still on the road. Ignis directs, and Luna and Ravus carry out his commands. Head chef is a more comfortable role than Lord Regent. Perhaps in a parallel universe somewhere, he rules a restaurant kitchen, and not a country.

It’s a pleasant little party, yet the table feels empty with so many people missing.

 _‘They’ll be back,’_ Ignis scolds himself. _‘Don’t be absurd.’_

Confound it, he’s supposed to be _over_ this stage. What has losing one’s eyes to do with having a nervous breakdown every few months? Some gentler part of his mind reminds him that he _has_ had a shock. They all have. Chris and Reginold’s- that had been the name of the other MT- dramatic deaths have left everyone shaken. Poor Luna is indirectly responsible for Reginold’s death. She’s born it as she has all things, with humble dignity. It occurs to Ingis that he has no idea what would be acceptable funerary rights for an MT. He hasn’t even got Bob to ask. The thought sends a fresh wave of sadness washing over him.

“Come back to the Leville with us,” Luna suggests when the table has been cleared and the dishes washed and put away. Ignis smiles politely, refusal on the tip of his tongue.

“We still haven’t determined if Izunia had a hand in this,” Ravus adds. Ignis’ insides promptly freeze solid. “It wouldn’t be right to leave you unguarded.”

He’s right, of course. With the MTs gone, the security force is down by more than half. He wonders if he can argue for MT security outside the city walls, or establish a sort of twilight license for them so they can go abroad so long as there is light? Either way, Ignis doesn’t especially want to stay by himself in the otherwise empty apartment. The thought of a visit from Izunia does nothing to bolster his resolve.

“Alright,” he agrees and falls into step with Luna and Ravus.

\--

Out of accident or intent, he’s given the same room he’d shared previously with Gladio and Prompto. Although Luna and Ravus are just across the hall, the room feels cavernously large and empty. Proximity is not safety. Ignis will still be by himself.

“Are you certain you’ll be alright?” Ravus asks. Ignis knows he has only to say the word and Ravus will stay with him. So he doesn’t.

“Perfectly,” Ignis replies, as if lying to royalty isn’t a capital offense. He can’t see their dubious expressions, but he can feel them.

“Allow me to post a personal guard, at least,” Luna presses.

“Really, that’s hardly necessary,” Ignis begins, and then feels the pressure of paws against his legs. He crouches down and rubs his hands over the furry little body. A hairless stripe across the dog’s snout confirms it:

“Umbra!”

“He makes an excellent guardian.” Ignis can hear the smile in Luna’s voice and can’t help returning it.

“With such a stalwart companion, I shall be perfectly safe.”

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

\--

Ignis doesn’t fall asleep right away. The room seems vast, echoing with foreign silence despite the fact that he’d slept here for months. That was more than two years ago. It seems at once like ages, but also only last week. He knows this room, yet it feels strange and alien. Perhaps it’s the lingering presence of the other people who have since slept here. Hotels are curious places that way. Ignis snuggles his face into his guardian’s scruff. Umbra’s fur is soft and warm, and the dog’s little heart beat and soft breaths are soothing. Ignis falls asleep mid-stroke as he brushes his fingers over Umbra’s silky fur.

At first, he does not dream. It’s at once a disappointment and a mercy. He will not see his friends’ faces tonight, but he will not have to watch himself fail to keep them safe from harm. He drifts in silent, oblivious rest for several hours. Distantly, he feels the mattress slant. Some part of his lizard brain suggests _Gladio? Ravus?_ There’s too much weight and mass for it to be Prompto. The movement is distantly familiar, as is the shape of the body climbing in next to him. A solid arm coils around him. Left arm. Soft. Gladio, then. Lizard Brain and Memory, however, disagree on something. Ignis doesn’t feel like waking up enough to puzzle it out.

 _No,_ Memory insists, _this is Important._ But why? And then it hits him, jolting him awake as if Ramuh had fired a lightning bolt directly into his brain.

Prompto and Gladio are gone with the MTs.

So who the _hell_ is in bed with him?

Ignis fights the urge to leap out of bed. That might escalate things in a direction he doesn’t want them to go. Surely his bed partner will have noticed the change in muscle tension, the sudden frantic beating of Ignis’ heart, yet the other person makes no move except to snuggle closer. It takes a supreme force of will not to freeze in panic. Instead, he shifts as if settling into a more comfortable position and turns to try to find out who’s next to him.

No one is more surprised than Ignis to see Ravus’ sleeping face.

How? How is this possible? Is he still asleep and dreaming? Surely he must be. For more than three years Ignis has seen nothing of the waking world but flickering shadows, ghosts of motion. All that remain to him are ephemeral outlines of the people he loves. And yet here he is, looking at Ravus; _seeing_ Ravus, watching as his chest softly rises and falls with every breath, feathery platinum hair spread out on the emphatically beige hotel pillow. Ravus is bare-chested, his left arm slung over Ignis.

There’s just one problem. Ravus shouldn’t have a left arm. He’s worn a prosthetic almost as long as Ignis has worn sunglasses to cover his ruined eyes. The arm over Ignis is made of muscle and bone covered in fair skin sprinkled with freckles. He’s got to be dreaming. Also, what’s happened to Umbra? The dog is nowhere in sight.

Ignis is fully awake now, except apparently he’s not. Something deep in his heart, in his gut, is screaming ‘ _DANGER!_ ’ at him. This is wrong. He’s lost his sight, and Ravus has lost an arm. And yet here they are, whole, as if the last few years had never happened.

Beside him, Ravus stirs. Blue-violet eyes squint at him in the darkness.

“Ignis?” Ravus asks sleepily. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

Ignis gapes mutely, still stunned that he can _see_. This doesn’t feel like a dream, it’s too real, and yet so many things don’t add up. He looks at his own hands and arms and finds them unscarred. What in seven hells is going on?

“Was it the nightmare again?” Ravus asks, voice tender.

“Nightmare?” Ignis echoes.

“The one where you put on the Ring to save Noctis,” Ravus says quietly, as if afraid to speak the words. “The one where you lose your sight; where I lose an arm.”

Ignis stares at him. Can it be true? Is this reality? Or is this only one of those rare dreams where he’s just conscious enough to remember his role in whatever nonsense his sleeping brain has produced? Part of him automatically tries to shift to adjust to the logic of the dream, another part screams frantically for him to wake up.

“It was like a nightmare,” Ignis admits. “Noctis was gone, and somehow that made me the one in charge. I’m not cut out to rule a country. I’m a nurse and a valet; an adviser at best. I was never meant to be Lord Regent.”

“No indeed,” Ravus agrees, reaching to take his hand. “That’s why you’re Duke of Piztala, royal consort to the prince of Tenebrae.” Ravus rubs thumb and forefinger over Ignis’ ring finger. Ignis blinks and looks down. Ravus is twirling a simple platinum band that Ignis had not noticed until now. There’s one to match it on Ravus’ hand. Wait. Are they supposed to be married? When did that happen? He feels his brows crease in confusion.

“Come back to sleep,” Ravus urges, pulling Ignis in closer with the arm that shouldn’t exist. He’s warm and solid and his matching arms hold Ignis with gentle strength. Against his will, Ignis finds himself relaxing into them. In his heart of hearts, he’s longed for this, and now to finally have it… He’s not sure what to think. If it’s a dream, perhaps he’d better enjoy it while he can.

Ravus is sleepily nuzzling his face into Ignis’ throat and it’s more pleasant than Ignis had imagined. He responds in kind, rubbing his cheek against Ravus’ soft hair. Ravus tilts his head to kiss the underside of Ignis’ jaw. The gesture makes Ignis inhale sharply, gooseflesh rippling over his skin. He can’t help laughing as Ravus’ nose brushes a ticklish spot. The prince’s lips keep moving, eventually finding a little corner just behind Ignis’ ear. Heat rushes up from his core, blooming across his cheeks and chest, burning his skin pink in a strange mix of embarrassment and...something else.

 _Get up!_ his common sense screams at him, _Run!_ But his inner voice of reason has become difficult to hear.

Ravus is lying half on top of him, heavy without being crushing. It’s about then that Ignis realizes it’s not only Ravus’ upper body that’s bare. Ignis isn’t wearing anything either. It occurs to him that this is the sort of thing most people wish they could dream about. Ignis has had his share of embarrassing dreams as a teenager, but none of them had ever gotten quite this far. Indeed, there’s an uneasy flutter of panic low in his stomach. Ravus’ affectionate cuddling has turned more passionate. He trails kisses down the side of Ignis’ neck, making him shiver and squirm. It’s so hot. He can’t think. He can’t breathe.

“Wait,” Ignis gasps as Ravus’ hand strokes down his torso to dip beneath the sheets--

The dream skips. There’s a sudden flash of static, the sharp bark of a dog.

Ravus is looking down at him, eyes hooded and dark with desire. For some reason, his gaze feels more predatory than adoring.

“Wait for what?” he asks, letting his hand drift to one side to cradle Ignis’ hip. “Don’t you want to?”

His body does. His heart does. But his brain has had enough and overrules the other two.

“No.”

Ravus pouts prettily. “You’re just rattled from your dream. Let me chase the shadows away.”

And that. That right there. Ravus would never fight him, would never press or insist. Ravus is gentlemanly to a fault, and would immediately back away at the slightest hint of discomfort. Whoever this is, it isn’t Ravus. That’s when Ignis knows it’s not a dream. It’s something- _someone_ \- worse.

Not-Ravus leans forward, pressing his lips to Ignis’, sealing off protest as well as oxygen. Ignis swears the impostor is heavier than he was a moment ago. His sweaty, grabbing hands seem to be everywhere, touching in places Ignis has never let anyone touch before. He tries to wriggle away, to throw him off, but Not-Ravus’ weight keeps him pinned in place.

Ignis is acutely, terrifyingly aware of the press of their bodies. Panic rises from his stomach to his chest to choke him further as the doppelgänger rocks his hips into him. He’s digging into the soft spot where Ignis’ leg and hip meet and it _hurts_ Not-Ravus backs off briefly, enough to adjust his aim before pressing his advantage.

Terror arcs through Ignis, electrifying his whole body. The dream bursts, leaving him choking on darkness. The stench of blood and mildew is so strong that he can taste it; decaying sludge filling his mouth and nose. He coughs and gags, but pulls no oxygen into lungs that have begun to burn. Somewhere beyond the suffocating void, a dog is barking madly, its claws scratching furiously against something. There’s a deafening crash, a shower of fragments tumble across his body and at once the vacuum scatters.

—

Luna starts awake as Pryna stiffens and begins to growl. She’s staring at the door, hackles raised and teeth bared. Luna summons her trident to her hand. Sweeping back the bed clothes, she stands and braces for a fight. And then she hears it: the frantic barking of a dog.

_Umbra. Ignis!_

She tears her door open and nearly collides with Ravus in her dash to the hall. She lets him pass, covering him as he rushes to Ignis’ door and bangs on it with his metal fist.

“Ignis? Ignis, are you alright?”

There is no answer save Umbra’s frenzied barking. Ravus glances at his sister who nods and steps back. Ravus is a big man and the door doesn’t offer much resistance as he rams it open. Splinters fly unnoticed to fall silent on the carpet.

The room is dark and empty. No sign of either intruders or a struggle. Only Ignis lies on the bed, tangled in the sheets. One of the pillows covers his face, the impression of a hand lingering in the center. Ravus flies to Ignis’ side. It’s not until Luna opens the closet door to release a hysterical Umbra that the smell hits her: starscourge. Ardyn has been here. May be here still.

Umbra bolts from the closet and leaps onto the bed, pawing and licking Ignis to get him to wake up. Ravus is shaking his shoulders, smacking his cheeks, but Ignis is disturbingly limp in his arms.

“He’s not breathing,” Ravus says, voice tense.

Luna takes command. “Get him on the floor. CPR. You do it, I’m too small.”

Ravus nods and extricates Ignis from the knotted sheets. His face is dark and blotchy and he doesn’t move. Ravus positions metal hand over organic and starts pumping Ignis’ chest. Umbra whines and paws at Ignis’ arm as Ravus tries to keep count.

To Luna’s eyes, Ignis looks as if he’s been doused in tar. Foreign magic clings to him, coating more than half his body with the oily residue of starscourge. Here again, his scars from the Ring of the Lucii may have protected him. She can see them still burning beneath the taint, but only faintly. He isn’t dead yet, but it’s likely only because she and Ravus broke in when they did.

“Breathe,” Ravus wills, blinking back tears. “ _Breathe!_ ”

Thus commanded, Ignis sucks in a ragged breath, seemingly trying to reclaim all the air he’s lost at once. The exhale cuts off in coughing so bone-deep that it shakes his entire body. Ignis turns on his side, gagging for air so hard that he retches bile onto the carpet. Ravus leans and rubs a hand between his shoulder blades.

“It’s alright. You’re safe now. Luna and I are--” All the air goes out of him. Luna stares, unable to draw breath to scream. For a moment they freeze in place, a grotesque tableaux: Luna kneeling, mouth agape in horror, Ignis with one fist still curled around the hilt of a dagger, and Ravus staring in dumb disbelief, Ignis’ dagger thrust through his middle and blood on his lips.

Ignis summons a knife into his free hand. Without thinking, Luna tosses him like so much hay with her trident; a little used maneuver meant to remove an obstacle and not destroy it. The tines leave a trio of neat slashes in his pajama top, slicing just deep enough to bead blood. Luna barely spares Ignis a glance as he lands heavily in the far corner. The dogs go over to make certain he poses no additional threat.

Ravus waivers where he kneels on the carpet. Her name is on his bloodied lips, but he cannot produce the sound. Ignis has struck him straight through the sternum. Lungs, larynx, spine, all sliced clean through. Shock alone keeps him upright for a heartbeat more, before he collapses heavily onto his back. The motion jars the dagger loose, an inch or two of blade now visible above Ravus’ chest. Blood rushes out in alarming quantities to soak his clothing as well as the carpet.

Luna swallows back her gorge, her fear, her panic. She can fix this. She _can_. Still, it isn’t easy to pull the dagger free, to press her hands down over the wound where blood bubbles up from her brother’s body like a mountain spring. Ravus’ breaths have become slow and gargled. She gags on the words of the prayer, willing herself to concentrate on repair, and not on damage. The spell complete, he turns and begins to cough as Ignis had, spilling more blood onto the carpet.

“Don’t move,” she tells him softly. “Just lie still.”

His mouth moves, but he still cannot make any sound. The word, however, is clear enough:

_Ignis._

It’s all he can manage before passing out.

Finally daring to tear her eyes from her brother, Luna turns to the corner where she’d thrown Ignis. He’s still there, upright and expression dazed, clutching Umbra as if he were a stuffed toy. He too attempts to speak, but is not successful. There are slashes in the sleeve of his pajamas and red stripes of blood on the arm below to match. His color has almost returned to normal with the exception of a mark visible just above his collar. Standing, she turns on the lights and goes over to examine Ignis more closely. He shies back from her touch. She can feel the charge of magic as he prepares to reach into the armiger.

“It’s just me,” she tells him softly. “I won’t touch you, I promise.” Instead, she leans forward a few degrees in order to make out what it is. It’s a bruise; red slowly turning to purple to blue to black. There is a ring around his throat, just below his Adam’s apple: the lingering mark of a pair of hands that had tried and failed to strangle the life out of him.

“I’m going to leave to get my phone,” she tells him. “I’m going to come back, and then call security. Both of you need medical attention.”

She stands, and goes to do exactly that.


	32. Aftershock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which inventory is taken, a conclusion is come to, and Ignis receives a pleasant surprise.

Ignis panics at first, but eventually the rational part of his brain manages to claw to the surface long enough to determine that the ambulance squad can’t possibly be part of a dream. He’s blind again, and people move around him in flickering shadows, their haste making them almost too fast to track. He’s packed up in an ambulance and sent to the hospital. He spends the ride answering redundant questions from the rescue nurse. Distantly, he recognizes it as a calming technique. He’s used it on others, but this is the first time he’s had it directed at himself. It’s strangely effective. He isn’t calm per se, but now he can at least pretend he is.

At the hospital, he’s given a cot and an oxygen mask to further steady his nerves. The city guard come in to question him, but he doesn’t tell them anything. He wants to discuss things with Luna first. It isn’t difficult to tremble where he sits, or flinch at their attempts to touch him. Ignis has never played up his own handicap, but now he milks it for all it’s worth. It doesn’t take much for the nurse to shoo the officers out of his room and into the hall. He feels guilty, but not enough to incriminate himself before he knows what the hell happened.

“Ignis?”

Looking up is automatic. He can’t see Luna standing in the doorway, but one of her dogs is clearly visible as it bounds over and leaps up onto the bed. Ignis gropes its head for confirmation: Umbra.

“Your Royal Highness,” formality is safe and familiar, and he falls back on it without thought. “You should be with your brother.”

“I was. The doctors tell me he’ll be fine. Nothing worse than moderate blood loss. He’s asleep now, so I thought I’d see to you.”

Suddenly, he can’t bear it. The kindness in her voice, the tenderness of the hand on his shoulder tip him over the edge. Hot tears well up and spill over as the fragile scaffolding of manners and bravado collapses. He almost doesn’t notice Luna folding him in her arms until he’s sobbing into her shoulder. All he can do is apologize again and again until he’s out of tears and breath. Luna says nothing, just pushes a box of tissues into his hands followed by a glass of water. She allows him several minutes to gather thoughts and composure before asking:

“What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yes.” It’s hardly the first time. It wouldn’t even be the first time he’s attacked someone while still half asleep. Ravus has wrestled him to the ground on more than one occasion. So why was this one different?

“May I ask what it was about?”

Ignis feels his face smolder with shame. “It’s not the sort of thing one confesses to a lady.”

“I am not a lady, I am Oracle and Queen and it was my brother you stabbed. Tell me what you can.”

She rubs her thumb across the back of his hand, a gesture reminiscent of Ravus, and Ignis crumbles. The version he gives is sanitized here and there. She doesn’t need to know that he dreamed himself and Ravus naked, for instance. It’s harder than he’d thought to force the words out, to admit to being frightened by his own subconscious.

Luna, however, is silent in a way that makes the hairs at the back of his neck rise.

“I’m not convinced it was a dream,” she begins, voice ominously calm and even. “I woke up when Umbra began barking. He’d been locked in the closet. I’m assuming you didn’t do that.”

“No. He was on the bed with me when I fell asleep.”

“Didn’t you hear him?”

Ignis shakes his head. “No.”

He can feel her frown deepening. “Ravus had to break down the door. There was a pillow over your face with the impression of a hand still in it. There’s also a mark around your neck as if someone had tried to strangle you.”

A mark? Strangulation? Gingerly, he touches fingertips to his throat and finds it tender to the touch. There is indeed a bruise rising there. He swallows hard as his throat and stomach spasm. 

“But how? I let no one in. Did the security cameras pick up anything?”

“No. I’m not sure the intruder entered by conventional methods. Your scars were burning and the room stank of starscourge.”

“Ardyn.”

Her head bobs in a nod. “Ardyn.”

Well. That explains a few things. Except for where it doesn’t. Ignis curls up tighter on the hospital cot. Umbra leans against him and whines plaintively. Ignis unlatches one arm from around his knees and reaches to scratch the dog behind his ears. No doubt in his canine brain, Umbra is feeling he’s been lax in his duties, as if he’s let his people down. Ignis does his best to reassure him.

Honestly, Ignis is having similar feelings. He doesn’t feel much like a Regent right now, or even a valet. He certainly doesn’t feel like a nurse. None of this had been in the job description- not in black-and-white, anyway- and yet there had been so much unspoken when he’d been pledged at age five to the Lucis Caelum family. He would always do what was best, what needed to be done for Noctis and his family. But how all this figured into the grand scheme of things, Ignis can not immediately fathom.

He wishes Gladio and Prompto were here. Luna has no doubt told them what happened, and they’ll each want to hug him and scold him and hug him again. Ignis doesn’t really fancy a hug at the moment. Ardyn’s fingerprints are all over him; soot-smudges of foul magic up and down his skin. Ignis doesn’t have to see them. He can feel them, and it makes him feel impossibly, unforgivably dirty. 

The lingering feeling of Ravus’ blood on his hands is a thousand times worse.

He knows what he’s done. For one brief, terrible, lightning flash moment, he’d seen Ravus as he had in the dream. His beautiful face more surprised than shocked, gaping at him, with one of Ignis’ own daggers sticking out of his chest before the darkness overwhelmed him again. It was as well Ignis had reacted on pure instinct, Ravus might not have been so lucky. As it was, the strike had been reflexive and uncalculated. Any serious damage had been by pure accident. Even still, had Luna not been there, things might have ended very differently. Ignis can’t help but shiver. He nearly killed the First Son of Tenebrae.

 

Maybe that was the point?

“Ignis? Lunafreya asks.

“Thinking,” he murmurs. “That was no ordinary nightmare. Izunia’s been playing me like one of Noctis’ video games: the taunting, the illusions, the constant assaults on my personal space… He nearly manipulated me into killing Ravus.”

“He’s never singled out Ravus before,” Luna points out. “He’s always targeted you. It was you he tried to smother.”

It’s subtle, but Ignis can smell starscourge beneath the lingering tang of Ravus’ blood. Had that been the plan all along?

No, Ignis realizes with uncomfortable clarity.

“It isn’t my or Ravus’ death Izunia wants- although that would no doubt please him immensely- it’s the death of our relationship.”

Luna utters little more than enlightened gasp, but the brief inhale speaks volumes.

“He knows you’re stronger together,” she says as realization dawns. “Tenebrae and Lucis united before the return of the True King. While the two of you stand, there is an even division of power and labor that allows me to minister to the people. If one or both of you were to fall, everything would depend on me and I…” she trails off, voice suddenly frightened and small. “I know I could not do it alone.”

 

Ignis nods. Ardyn’s done his best to frighten, to invade, to force an emotional wedge between the two of them by preying on Ignis’ fears. It’s not that he’s afraid of Ravus, it’s the thought of a life of his own that scares him. What is he without Noctis? Ignis has no idea.

Would it be so terrible to find out?

Umbra nudges his hand with his wet nose, and Ignis strokes his fingers over the dog’s head. Noctis had been prepared to marry Lunafreya despite years of separation, and Ignis- with very few exceptions- would never ask Noctis to do anything he would not do himself. It occurs to him that he’s been a godsdamned coward. With good reason, certainly, but a coward nonetheless. The fact that he’s stabbed Ravus just a few hours previous is not doing anything to bolster his confidence.

He should talk to Ravus, but that can wait. There are things to do, and he wants time to find the right words. Chancellor brain fully engaged, Ignis uncurls and lets go of Umbra.

“Can I ask you to call the city guard back in? I’m prepared to make a statement now. I’m afraid I was a bit short with them earlier.”

“Yes, of course.” Luna stands to do as asked.

“Could I also trouble you to have someone bring a change of clothes?” He’d been swept off still in his bloodied pajamas; no shoes, no sunglasses, no phone, nothing.

He swears he can see her smile. “I’ll do you one better.”

Going to the door, she opens it and another figure- about as tall, but half again as broad- steps inside.

“Sir!”

Ignis can feel his own face light up. “Bob!”

He leaps off the bed, Umbra hurrying to hop clear as Ignis crushes Bob to him in a grateful hug. Bob wraps his arms around Ignis, face pressed to his shoulder.

“Oh my dear boy,” Ignis murmurs into Bob’s short hair. “I’m so glad you came back. I wanted you to stay. Please know that I wanted you, _all_ of you, to stay. I would have found a way. I _will_ find a way.”

“I’m sorry I left,” Bob says, finally pulling back. Ignis keeps one hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t want to, but the others thought we should. We were afraid.”

Ignis nods. “I can understand that. I hope you won’t be leaving again. I should be lost without you.”

He _can_ see Bob’s radiant smile, if only briefly. “I won’t. I promise.”


	33. Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which evidence is gathered and Ignis gains an Emotional Support MT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Non-graphic mentions of sexual assault, non-graphic nudity, and invasive hospital procedures (rape kit).  
> If this is not something you need to read right now, feel free to skip. <3

Bob has brought a change of clothes, as well as Ignis’ phone and visor. Luna dismisses herself when the nurse and the city guard return. Ignis gives them a much less sugar-coated version of events; blunt and clinical. Bob- who remains by his side- flinches as Ignis describes Ardyn’s attempts on both his life and his body. Since it’s a variation on sexual assault, the nurse and guards suggest Ignis undergo a rape kit, despite having narrowly escaped being fully violated.

Inwardly, Ignis sighs. Izunia is not corporeal. What possible evidence could be left by a phantom made of bad fashion sense and spite? He’s heard of violation _of_ a corpse, but never violation _by_ a corpse.

“If you think it best, but I don’t know that you’ll find anything.”

“Let us decide that,” one of the guards insist.

Reluctantly, Ignis agrees.

The nurse- his movements reveal him to be a sturdy fellow who puts Ignis in mind of Prompto when he was a boy- pulls the curtain around Ignis’ bed. Another nurse- shorter and not as broad- enters with a rolling cart. The guards stay on the other side of the curtain. At his side, Bob fidgets, uncertain.

“Should I go?” he asks.

“No,” the word leaves Ignis’ mouth before he can stop it. “Please, don’t go too far.”

“Of course, Sir.”

The curtain ripples as Bob goes to stand on the other side with the officers.

It isn’t his area of expertise, but Ignis remembers this particular chapter of his nursing education. He’s also seen his share of police procedural dramas, and so has a rough idea of how this will go.

“Narrate,” he tells the approaching nurse. “I can’t see what you’re doing, so you’ll have to tell me.”

“Yes, your...um...Regent-ness?”

Ignis doesn’t quite manage to stifle a snerk and presses his lips together against a smile.

“My official title is ‘Lord Regent’, meaning ‘my Lord’ would be an appropriate address.”

In this one instance, he needs the formality, needs the distance of his title no matter how inflated. If this is happening to the Lord Regent, and not to Ignis, it will be easier to bear.

“Right,” the nurse nods. “First, you’ll need to undress. I’ll take your clothes and put them in a bag so they can be analyzed. You’ll get them back later.”

The pajamas had been his favorite, well-worn to perfect softness. Now, however, the top is shredded from Luna’s trident, and stiff with Ravus’ blood. Even if he could repair them, Ignis could never bring himself to wear them again.

“Burn them,” he says decisively. “I don’t want them back.”

“Yes, Sir. Um, my Lord.”

The nurse helps him out of his ruined pajamas, leaving Ignis standing in his briefs.

“I’m going to comb out your hair for fragments.”

Ignis holds still as the nurse carefully draws a comb through Ignis’ tousled hair. He doesn't feel anything tumble to his shoulders, but who knows.

“I’m going to need you to remove your underwear,” the nurse says, a note of apology in his voice. “Then I’m going to take some pictures of your injuries and swab under your nails.”

“Do I have injuries?” Ignis asks, surprised. “I know about the bruise on my neck, and there’s probably a mark on my back and shoulder from training.”

“Got a couple unidentified marks,” the nurse confirms.

That’s disconcerting.

“Start with my hands?” Ignis pleads, holding both out. “I need my hands.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Ignis holds still as he receives the worst manicure of his life. He’s still not allowed to wash off the blood, but he doesn’t have to worry about touching anything now. The lights click off, the bright crack in his vision fading. Part of him knows what that means, understands that it’s related to the nurse’s earlier instructions, but he can’t synch up brain and limbs to obey.

“Gonna need your shorts, my Lord,” the nurse prompts.

Shaking himself, Ignis nods. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Gladio likes to tease him about his modesty. Ignis feels this is largely undeserved. He’s survived the communal locker rooms of school and Crownsguard training, such as it was. As his nurse, he’s seen Noctis naked more times than he can count. Nudity in others doesn’t bother Ignis in the slightest. He’s less comfortable with bearing all when it comes to himself.

This is different. Yes, it’s in a medical context with only two nurses to bear witness, but that doesn’t make it less horrible. The room is dim to allow him such privacy as they can. He can feel the _absence_ of the nurses’ eyes on him as they document anatomy without looking at the person it comprises, which is almost as bad as being stared at. It takes conscious effort to keep his arms held out on either side. The flash of the camera blasts his ruined retinas and Ignis can’t help but jump. He stumbles in place, nearly tripping off the little paper mat. A hand grabs his, steadying him. It’s too slender to be that of either of the nurses, and too rough with callouses.

“Steady, Sir.”

Bob. Ignis swallows hard, and squeezes Bob’s hand tightly. “Please don’t look.”

“I won’t, Sir.”

The nurses make no move to eject Bob, and so he stays, holding Ignis steady. Ignis starts as a second flash goes off.

“For Shiva’s sake, _WARN ME!_ ” he snaps.

The nurse recoils at the shouting. “Right. Sorry. Er...say ‘cheese’?”

Ignis braces himself, scrunching his eyes shut against the flash.

“Two more,” the nurse promises. “Then the UV, then the swabs, and you’re done.”

Ignis stands there as they wave a black light over him, resisting the urge to cover himself with his free hand. Finally, _finally_ the nurse has him hold his arms forward and slides the scratchiest, nappiest smock in the history of medical examinations up and over Ignis’ shoulders. It’s made of some godsawful acrylic that has seen _far_ too much wear. The texture of it makes his skin crawl, but it’s better than standing exposed for all the world to see. The back gapes and Ignis reaches behind to hold it closed.

“Just one more thing, my Lord,” the nurse tells him. “If you could lie down on the bed?”

Ignis draws a deep breath that escapes in a resigned sigh. He knows what’s coming next. Just this last humiliation and then it will be over. The nurse doesn’t have to ask Ignis to lie back and part his knees, Ignis assumes the appropriate position and tries to focus on breathing steadily. He can’t help but inhale sharply as the nurse swabs the inside of his leg. There’s unquestionably a bruise there. The memory of Ardyn wearing Ravus’ face while bearing down on him makes him shudder, gorge rising high enough to burn.

“Done,” the nurse says, pushing Ignis’ knees together and pulling the paper drape down over his legs. “I’ll take this for processing and you can get dressed.”

“I don’t suppose I might wash the blood off first?” It comes out shorter than intended, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s filthy, tired, mostly naked, and out patience with everyone and everything. He’ll be polite when he’s got some godsdamned pants on.

The nurse hunches his shoulders, chagrined. “Right. Sure. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

\--

Bob leads Ignis to the shower, where Ignis cranks the hot water and proceeds to scrub himself raw. Can starscourge be washed off? He doesn’t know. Perhaps it would be wise to have Luna look him over once he’s fit to be seen. At least he’s got the blood off, though it’s hard to shake the sticky texture that lingers between his fingers, and beneath his scraped nails.

He feels more human now that he’s clean, but his mind is drifting, unwilling to return to his body and deal with the chaos of the last few hours. Ignis thumbs his phone and it reads him the time: 4:27am. He’s no idea when Ardyn attacked, or how long he’s been at the hospital. The duty nurse would probably discharge him- assuming he was admitted at all- if he were to ask to go home. Except Ignis isn’t ready to leave yet. He still hasn’t seen Ravus, and he isn’t sure what to say or do when he does.

It could be worse, he tells himself. Ravus- thanks to Luna- is fine. It’s unlikely she or Ravus will press charges, and really everyone involved was very lucky indeed. If nothing else, he ought to properly apologize to both Luna and Ravus, his blubbering earlier hardly counts. Luna’s probably with Ravus even if he isn’t awake yet. Ignis summons his walking stick from the armiger and takes Bob’s elbow. He doesn’t need the stick in familiar places, but the hospital is alien to him, and he wants the extra personal buffer the cane affords.

One of the dogs greets them at the door, tail wagging as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Ignis just catches Luna looking up to see them.

“Ingis,” she says, standing to take his hands. “How did it go with the city guard?”

“Well enough,” he shrugs. “I wanted to formally apologize for what happened, and for my earlier theatrics.”

She tuts at him. “Ignis, it was an accident. No one’s accusing you.”

He lowers his head, feeling as if he’s been scolded.

“Would you like to stay?” she offers.

“I… Thank you, yes. Have you told Prompto and Gladio?”

She shakes her head. There’s no flip of ponytail, she must have her hair down. “It wasn’t my place to say. Besides, it’s not as if they could arrive in time to have done any good.”

Ignis is perplexed. “Then how did Bob get here?”

“I came back on my own, Sir,” Bob speaks up. “Me and a few others. We didn’t really want to leave, but felt we had to. Commodore Highwind said she wouldn’t accept reluctant soldiers, so we came back here.”

“And I’m very glad you did,” Ignis tells him sincerely. He can’t see Bob’s bashful smile, but he knows it’s there. Luna tugs at a chair to show him where it is, and Ignis takes a seat. It’s a bit nicer than the standard plastic chairs, but provides the same level of comfort- which is to say slim to none.

“Your Majesty...” Ignis begins, floundering slightly for words. “You said earlier that I had foreign magic clinging to me. Is it still there?”

She leans back to eye him. “A little. It’s not the sort of thing that can be washed off with soap and water. Would you like me to dispel it?”

“Please.” He wants Ardyn’s cooties off him last week.

Ignis can’t help flinching slightly as Luna reaches to cradle his face in her hands. He barely hears the prayer, concentrating on the cleansing chill of her magic. It reminds him a little of a mountain stream; cold, clear, and pure enough to take one’s breath away. Ignis shakes himself and takes a steadying breath as she removes her hands. He swears the endless gray static of his vision has resolved ever so slightly. He still can’t see much of anything besides fleeting glimpses of motion, but it seems sharper somehow. Perhaps he’s imagining it.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“You’re welcome.”

Despite the new clarity to what little vision he has, it’s a relief to slide his visor into place. He sits silent for a long moment, both hands folded over the handle of the walking stick, trying to think. It doesn’t go very well.

“If I may, Sir?” Bob speaks up.

“Yes, Bob?”

“Is anyone hungry? I’d be happy to fetch something.”

Ignis doesn’t think he could eat even if he tried, but he suddenly has a powerful need for a cup of coffee; possibly something stronger. There’s a flash of memory: his uncle adding a drop of brandy to Ignis’ coffee the night his parents died. He hadn’t been old enough to drink, but his uncle had insisted it didn’t matter. Ignis has been too young for just about everything he’s done in his life to day: valet at seven, nurse at sixteen, advisor at eighteen, political refugee at twenty-three, Lord Regent at twenty-five. Ignis had felt oddly grownup in that moment, despite the reason for his spiked drink. Tragedy has only added to his responsibilities over the years, a trend that has yet to be broken. Ignis wonders if it ever will?

“Coffee, please.”

“And me as well,” Luna adds. Ignis doesn’t look up as Bob’s footsteps fade and then vanish.

Umbra- Ignis assumes it’s Umbra- comes over and noses his leg. Ignis reaches down to pet him.

“He feels guilty,” Luna says by way of interpretation.

“He needn’t,” Ignis says, scratching Umbra behind the ears and eliciting a rapid tail thump. “He did his best, though I’d give much and more to hear his side of things.”

“They don’t exactly speak Common,” Luna agrees. “However, I can understand them to a degree. From what Umbra’s shown me, it’s as if he were swallowed up by starscourge. When he managed to shake it off, he was inside the closet.”

“So Ardyn believed Umbra to be a potential threat.”

“It would seem so.”

“See boy, your reputation precedes you.” Umbra’s tail wagging briefly increases in speed.

For a while they sit in silence. Ignis reaches into his jacket pocket and fingers his phone. He should tell Prompto and Gladio. The thought of alarming them is less daunting than the prospect of apologizing to Ravus whenever he wakes up. He almost doesn’t notice Bob’s approaching steps until he’s right in front of him.

“Coffee your Majesty, Sir.”

Ignis takes the offered cup and stands. “Thank you, Bob. Is there a sitting area anywhere?”

“Yes, Sir,” Bob sounds slightly confused. “There’s one down the hall. No one’s there right now.”

“Excellent. If I may be excused, your Majesty, I have a phone call to make.”

“Yes of course.” He just makes out the dip of her head as she nods.

“Thank you. Bob, if you would, please?”

Ignis extends the hand without coffee. Bob takes it and tucks it under his elbow. “Of course, Sir.”


	34. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ignis tells his story a third time.

Bob guides Ignis to the waiting area.

“Four chairs and two sofas arranged in a square,” Bob explains. “There’s a square coffee table in the middle. If you turn left, there’s a couch perhaps half a step away.”

Ignis lets go and edges forward, free hand outstretched. Ah, there. His fingers connect with vinyl upholstery, a moment later, so do the backs of his legs. He sinks down and feels the cushions crush as Bob sits next to him. Ignis wonders if Bob had bothered to get anything for himself?

The coffee Bob had brought him is almost too hot to hold, but Ignis takes a cautious sip anyway. It’s scalding, a roast so dark it’s bordering on burnt, and was probably made fresh somewhere around 7PM the previous day. Still, Ignis is glad of it. It’s something familiar, something to do that isn’t retelling the night’s events one more time. Yet it’s got to be done. Part of him wonders if he ought to wait until a more humane hour? He thumbs his phone a second time.

“The time is 4:59AM.”

Honestly, both Prompto and Gladio are probably up by now. They’re both early risers and believe in jogging before breakfast. Rather than dial them immediately, Ignis sends them a text, alerting them that he needs to speak to them both. His phone vibrates in his hand and he taps the screen.

“Mornin’ Iggy,” Prompto says cheerfully. “What’s up? Besides you, obviously.”

“Yeah, what’s so important you need a conference call first thing?” Gladio chimes in.

“I missed the sound of your voices,” Ignis deadpans. Prompto and Gladio obligingly laugh. Ignis can’t help smiling a little himself.

“Actually, I wanted to make you aware of something.”

The mood instantly changes. There’s a sense of dread and anticipation on the other end of the line.

“Everyone’s fine,” Ignis hurries to assure them. “It’s nothing dire. No lasting damage sustained unless you count the carpet.”

“ _Iggy,_ ” Gladio says forcefully. “What happened?”

Ignis takes a deep breath and lets it out in a heavy sight. “I had another nightmare.”

He could leave the personal bits out. He could tell them only that he’d been frightened enough that he stabbed Ravus. He’s come close on a few occasions already. Except… Except it would be lying. Gladio and Prompto know him better than anyone. They deserve to know, don’t they? Ignis takes a steadying breath, closes his eyes, and tries to find the words.

Normally he has an explanation for everything. He’s never been shy about speaking in public. He’s told his story twice now; once to Luna, and again to the City Guard. It should not be this hard to force past the sudden knot in his throat and the queasy feeling in his stomach. Nothing actually happened. He escaped with his modesty intact. Thanks to Luna, no one died. Ravus won’t even have much of a scar to remember his misadventure by. And yet Ignis cannot speak. The words stick in his throat, choking off speech and oxygen. He swallows hard, but it doesn’t help.

Bob reaches and places his hand over Ignis’ arm. Ignis turns his hand palm-up, imploring, and Bob closes his hand around Ignis’. Bob’s fingers are warm, his grip firm. It’s calming, grounding, but not enough to steady the slight tremble in his voice.

In halting stops and starts he tells them. All of it. The dreamed relationship, the assault, the mistaken attack on Ravus. Gladio and Prompto are achingly silent throughout, the line hanging empty several moments after he’s finished. His breath is coming in awkward gulps that seem to carry no oxygen and he’s shaking where he sits. Bob edges closer and puts an arm around him.

Ignis almost doesn’t notice the muttered curses and muted exchange between Gladio and Prompto as they try to discuss something without him hearing. One of them probably has their hand over the speaker. Ignis can hear them talking, but he can’t pick out individual words. It’s not until the exchange has become heated that he manages to properly pay attention.

“Prompto? Gladio?” Ignis hates the way his voice crumbles in the middle, but it gets them to stop arguing.

“We’re coming back,” Gladio announces.

“How?” Prompto hisses. “We’re halfway to Gralea right now!”

“There’s no need,” Ignis hiccups. “I’m perfectly… perfectly fine.”

“Like hell,” Gladio growls.

“I’ve had a bit of a shock, that’s all,” Ignis tries to dismiss the belated panic shivering through him. Aftershock, that’s all this is. “I didn’t have time to process it earlier. My apologies for going to pieces all over you.”

“What? Hey, no!” Gladio is all apologies and soft tone now. “Six, Iggy, that’s not it! Gods, you were just attacked! You’re allowed to be freaked about it.”

“We just wish we were there to hug you in person,” Prompto explains. “Please tell me someone’s with you now?”

“Bob’s here,” Ignis manages.

“Hello,” Bob says. “I’m afraid I overheard. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Aw sweet! You made it!” Prompto says. “No, we don’t mind. Thanks for sticking with Iggy. He forgets to take care of himself, as I’m sure you know.”

Ignis can feel Bob’s amused smile. “I’ve had to remind him once or twice.”

“Bob’s scarcely left my side,” Ignis says, having recovered somewhat. “So don’t worry on that count.”

“Okay good. Stay with him, okay?” That’s Gladio, some of his gruffness has returned.

“I will,” Bob promises.

Ignis smiles a little. “Indeed, I don’t think I could get him to leave if I tried.”

“I hope you won’t, Sir.”

“I would never.”

Bob gives him a one-armed hug and Ignis has to swallow back the lump that rises in his throat. Evidently he’s not done being dramatic. He draws a shaky breath that escapes in a sigh. Six, he’s tired. He doesn’t want to be emotional, or have to deal with any more drama.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Gladio promises. “I mean, we would anyway, but...you get the idea.”

“I do, yes.” Ignis lets his eyes drift closed. A decided headache has set in.

“Call us any time,” Prompto insists. “Doesn’t matter if it’s 3AM. We’d rather know, okay?”

“Alright.”

“You gonna be okay?” Gladio asks.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, okay. Take care of yourself, okay Iggy?”

“Okay.”

\--

Ignis wakes with a crick in his neck and a foul taste in his mouth. Despite this, he’s warm and comfortable, despite being horribly disoriented. Where is he? Certainly not in bed. It comes back to him like a punch in the gut and he lies there, breathless, trying to sort through it all. It’s too much and Ignis retreats to the safer, less complicated problem of his current location. He’s half-curled on a narrow surface, his upper body leaning heavily on someone else. It takes him a moment to realize he must have fallen asleep on Bob.

Rubbing his face, Ignis groans a yawn.

“Six above, what time is it?”

“Half-past seven, Sir,” Bob tells him.

“In the morning?”

“Yes.”

He’s only slept a little over two hours, but Ignis feels better for it. Or would if he didn’t have a thundering headache. He’s probably dehydrated and hungry. He didn’t drink much of the coffee Bob had so kindly brought him. It’s probably cold and undrinkable now- not that it was terribly drinkable before.

“Did I miss anything?”

He just catches the shake of Bob’s head. “No, Sir. No word from their Majesties.”

Ravus may still be asleep. Indeed, after the insanity of last night, they could both be out. No one would begrudge either of the Nox Fleurets a bit of a lie-in, especially Luna. Astrals know she could use more rest. He’ll let them alone for now. Is this cowardly of him? Probably. But Ignis still hasn’t had time to think things through, to get his own head on straight before he tries to think of what he’ll say to Ravus. Blubbering all over him like he did with Luna is not acceptable.

Six, he would love to stop going to pieces over every little thing. Why must he be like this?

“Sir?”

Ignis shakes himself. “Yes, Bob?”

“Do you need something, Sir?”

There are a number of things Ignis needs, none of which Bob and provide. Mostly he needs time; time to think, time to prepare.

“No, but their Majesties will.”

Ignis stands and summons his walking stick. “Let’s go home. I, for one, am famished, and I’m sure you’re hungry too. We can stop by the Leville later and pick up some things for their Majesties. I’m sure at the very least they both need a change of clothes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Which reminds him.

“Where are you staying?” Ignis asks.

Bob doesn’t answer right away. “I...don’t know yet. There are only a handful of us in the city now. We thought we might try to find a place together.”

“Gladio and Prompto won’t be back for some time. Until then, you shall stay with me. I’ll see the others find accommodations as well.”

“Thank you, Sir!”

Ignis holds out his hand, and Bob tucks it under his elbow. For once, Ignis is ready to go home.

\--

With Bob there, the little flat Ignis, Gladio and Prompto share seems friendlier. It’s hard to feel comfortable since the last time Ardyn dropped by, but for some reason having another person there makes it alright. With Bob’s assistance, Ignis throws together breakfast for the both of them. The food and coffee take the edge off the building migraine. Reluctantly, Ignis accepts that he won’t be going to the office today. Were they here, Gladio and Prompto would probably literally sit on him if he tried to go in, insisting he needed to rest. If nothing else, running on perhaps four hours of sleep after fending off Chancellor Bad Touch- Prompto’s nickname for Izunia- is not the best prep for a productive workday.

Ignis makes a few calls, sends a few texts, only to discover that Luna’s beaten him to it. No one is expecting him to come in today, and all duties have either been covered or postponed. He smiles to himself as he hangs up. A remarkable woman is their Queen and Oracle. With nothing else to do, Ignis finds his way to the bedroom. He doesn’t need another shower, and his pajamas are gone, so he changes into a T-shirt and track pants. He can go shopping later. This will do for now.

Rather than climb into the lower bunk, he gropes for Prompto’s pillow and then crosses the hall to Gladio’s room. The full bed seems expansive after the little twin mattress. The pillow smells of Prompto, and the room still holds the remnants of Glaido’s scent; their soap and shampoo, as well as the subtler fragrance of the men underneath. They can’t be here, but this will do for now. It’s a little like talking to them on the phone; a way to keep them close over distance.

There’s shuffling from the hall, and a shadow casts over him from the doorway.

“Do you need anything, Sir?”

“No thank you, Bob. Help yourself to whatever you like, watch television, lie down, do as you please. I’m going to nap for a few hours.”

“Yes, Sir.” Bob shifts uneasily. “Um. May I… err…”

Ignis waits while Bob tries to find the right words.

“Would it… Would you like me to stay with you?”

It’s funny to hear one of Prompto’s verbal quirks from another pair of lips. It’s an almost childish tactic; deflecting the speaker’s fear onto one perceived to be stronger and more capable. It comes as a mild shock to realize that Bob’s frightened too.

“Please,” Ignis tells him, not untruthfully. “Just until I fall asleep.”

Bob lets out a breath he no doubt hadn’t realized he was holding. “Of course, Sir.”

Ignis waits until Bob’s settled before lying down himself. If Bob plans on keeping his promise, he need not have gotten comfortable. Ignis is asleep before his head hits the pillow.


	35. Fealty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a new allegiance is pledged.

Ignis has no idea what time it is, and he doesn’t particularly care. At present, he’s warm and comfortable, and doesn’t feel like moving yet. He always goes to sleep lying on his back, and wakes up half-curled on his right side. Bob’s pressed against his back, an arm and a leg thrown over him. Ignis doesn’t mind. So far as he can tell, Bob’s still out cold and Ignis doesn’t want to disturb him. He’s had a trying time too.

Ignis’ dreams had been mercifully ordinary, aside from a brief snippet towards the end that was clearly his subconscious flailing about recent events. He can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about it. It had felt like a cartoon, a parody of himself and Ravus, caricatures acting out something that Ignis’ stymied imagination only understands in purely academic terms. He’s pretty sure that’s not actually how it’s supposed to work. It’s almost funny, honestly.

Ignis chuckles a bit at himself. He’s not sure what it says about him that his brain can’t even manage a properly inappropriate dream. At his back, Bob stirs and snuggles closer. Ignis pats the hand that’s draped over his middle. Bob yawns and rolls away to stretch.

“Sir?” he asks sleepily.

“Can I say ‘good morning’?” Ignis asks, finally cracking an eye. The room is dim, the single window doesn’t admit much light even at noon. He can’t tell if it’s early or late. “What time is it?”

The mattress shifts as Bob props himself up and stretches to squint at the bedside clock. “Just after 11AM.”

“That’s not bad, then.” Ignis turns over to stretch himself. He feels better. The headache is gone, though he still feels tired if not sleepy. He doesn’t want to lie in bed anymore, but he does need time to think. Automatically, he begins to sketch an outline in his head: He wants to make lunch for Luna and Ravus. An apology always goes down better with food. Besides, hospital cuisine is usually atrocious. He’ll bring them each a change of clothes as well, if none have yet arrived. That’s the thing about having an accident in the dead of night, everyone had been spirited off to the hospital in their pajamas. Speaking of which, he needs a new pair. And of course he needs to make arrangements for Bob’s friends.

“Can I ask you to run some errands for me?” Ignis says, mentally mapping out his plan of attack.

“Of course, Sir.”

“Could you go to the shopping district and pick up a few things? I’ll stay here. I need time to think. I’ll be fine alone for an hour or so.”

“I’d be happy to.”

Ignis dictates a list of items to be acquired. Once Bob’s been sent on his way, Ignis turns to face the apartment and rolls up his sleeves. He may not be able to see what he’s doing, but that doesn’t matter. The result should still be the same.

Ignis does his best thinking when he’s cleaning. The small achievements seem to help the thought process. He finds the spray cleaner, the baking soda and vinegar and old sponges, and gets to work. While he scrubs, he lets his thoughts unspool.

Perhaps it’s another stage of the experience, but he doesn’t feel emotional the way he had earlier. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s as if the whole thing had happened to someone else. Perhaps he’s compartmentalizing, or mentally distancing himself from things he’d rather not feel. He’s not even that upset about the assault. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been attacked, or even had his modesty threatened. Ardyn’s come closer than anyone to forcing himself on Ignis, but he wasn’t successful either. Mostly Ignis is annoyed with himself for allowing it to happen. Yes, he was asleep at the time, but that’s beside the point. It had been humbling, even humiliating, to admit this failure to Luna, Prompto, and Gladio. He’s not the King’s Shield, but he’s qualified Crownsguard. He _should_ be able to protect himself, dammit.

So then what had he gotten all weepy about?

Bawling on Luna’s shoulder had been remorse over stabbing her brother. He still feels bad about that. Ignis is reasonably sure Ravus will shrug it off as nothing, but Ignis can’t help feeling guilty. It’s virtually a non-issue, but it continues to nag at him. Perhaps because it’s unfinished business? Once he’s confessed to Ravus, he’ll be able to let it go and move on.

Confess to Ravus. Confess, indeed. Confess what? Ignis pauses in scrubbing the bathtub and sits back on his heels. He’ll tell him the whole thing, start to finish, that’s not even a question. Ravus deserves to know. Above everyone, Ravus deserves the truth. He was the one who got the business end of one of Ignis’ daggers, after all. But how to put it? Why does the thought of telling Ravus tie his guts in knots?

It’s not the second part of the dream, Ignis realizes, it’s the first. The part where he and Ravus wore twin rings, and slept naked in the same bed. The part where they were more than friends, more than co-rulers or partners, but married lovers. That. That’s the part that he isn’t sure how to explain. Because without Noctis to throw the decision, to cancel out all other options…

He wants that. 

At the bottom of his heart, in the marrow of his bones, it is the thing Ignis most longs for, and the thing he is most terrified of having.

 _Why?_ he forces himself to ask.

Because it was never a possibility. Never even a question. Gladio might be teased about continuing the Amicitia line, and Noctis has his own princely duties to try to squeeze in before his last act as King, but Ignis has never had to suffer such indignities. No one had ever asked him about girlfriends, or suggested nice young women of a similar rank and demeanor who might make suitable wives and mothers. Now that he thinks about it, his own family tree has proceeded in something of a zigzag of grafts and offshoots. The king’s valet rarely had any children of his own. The family line had been carried on through lesser sons and cousins. Ignis is of a long and distinguished line of professional bachelors; men too consumed by the duty of the crown to bother about the duty of continuing the family name. There is no formal rule, nothing on paper- he knows, he looked- but it has always been accepted fact that the king’s valet would devote his life to his master. He’s Noctis’ nurse and valet, a servant. Ignis had thought he’d been called to a single life of service and celibacy. He had been fine with that.

The fact that a romantic relationship is, in fact, an option comes as a bit of a revelation. An awkward revelation. It’s like discovering that an entire facet of his education has been neglected. Ignis is forced to admit that he has no idea how to get from Point A: admission of mutual attraction, to Point Z: holy matrimony. (He assumes there will be at least that many steps in between.) Obviously, the first step would be to rescind their rule about keeping their distance, but after that? Ignis is at a loss. How does one make love- in the traditional Romantic sense of the previous century that involves courting favor and features a distinct absence of sex- to a prince? 

Ravus’ words haunt his thoughts:

_Consider standing by my side, not as a servant, but as a partner, a helpmeet. As one whom I can trust. When the Chosen King returns, I will ask nothing of you. Instead, I shall stand beside you and defend him. If we are still alive after the Light has been restored… Consider the possibility. Consider what it might be like to live, and to stand beside another who cares for you._

Falling back to sit cross-legged on the floor, Ignis takes a moment and forces himself to consider it. It flies in the face of everything he’s been taught, everything he’s believed his whole life. His life was supposed to be devoted entirely to Noctis’. But Noctis was born to die, just as Ignis was born to serve. And if he- if all of them- should outlive their king, what then?

He strongly suspects Gladio and Prompto might have their own...thing...going. They haven’t said outright, but Ignis has marked Prompto climbing down from the top bunk now and then, and not for a trip to the bathroom. He assumes they’ll tell him when they’re ready. If that’s the case, well, they can’t maintain their merry band as it is forever. Gladio and Prompto deserve to have their own space, and time to be together. Besides, Ignis already knows their opinion on himself and Ravus. Indeed, at one time everyone seemed to think he and Ravus ought to be together. And why should they not? It’s been more than two years since he became Lord Regent by default. Propriety is no longer an issue.

As always, his thoughts return to Noctis. Noctis is, and ever shall be, the priority, but Noctis is not here. May not be here for some time yet. If he were, Ignis would not even be having this conversation with himself. Short of Noctis ordering him to get off his ass and say something, Ignis would continue on as he always has, as Noctis’ nurse, valet, and advisor. That is what he was born to do, just as Noctis was born the Chosen King.

What, Ignis wonders, _would_ Noctis have to say about all this?

_Oh my gods Specs, just fucking kiss him!_

Ignis laughs out loud. He can’t help it. Six, he’s been an abominable fool. Then again, perhaps to rush into things back in Tenebrae would have been too much too soon? Maybe both Ravus and himself needed the time to figure out how to work together on professional terms before they turned to personal. That’s what Ignis is going with, anyway. Right. Well, that’s sorted. Now how to put that into words for Ravus?

Perhaps just this one time, it might be best to speak from the heart.

\--

With fear, trepidation, a cooler and a gym bag, Ignis and Bob return to the hospital. Luna is overjoyed at having something besides her nightdress and a hospital bathrobe to wear. Ravus- who is finally being released from observation- is also glad to not have to find his way back to the Leville in his bloodstained pajamas.

“Thank you,” Ravus tells him.

“You’re quite sure you’re alright?” Ignis asks, willing himself not to pat Ravus down to check him for injuries he knows are no longer there.

“Perfectly,” Ravus assures him.

“Do you doubt the skill of the Oracle?” Luna asks. There’s a smile in her words, but Ignis feels his face heat as if he’s been scolded.

There’s a large, shaded area full of tables and chairs adjoining the hospital cafeteria, and they go there to have their lunch. Ignis finds it difficult to eat. Perhaps his decision to speak without pre-preparing a speech is a bad idea. As it is, he can barely open his mouth. No one really says anything, but it’s not a weighted silence. Ravus and Luna are hungry, and Bob seems content to eat his sandwich without comment.

“I cannot thank you enough,” Luna tells him when they’ve finished. “I feel human again.”

Ignis allows himself a smile. “My pleasure, your Majesty.”

She tilts her head, questioning. Like Bob, it’s difficult for Ignis to drop formality. He’s done it with Luna before, but he can’t bring himself to do it now. Not when he’s got something important on his mind. Luna seems to have picked up on this, but doesn’t comment.

“Your Highness,” Ignis begins somewhat awkwardly, voice wobbling, “if I might have a word?”

“Of course,” Ravus replies.

Luna chooses that moment to stand. “I’ll let the two of you chat. I’m going back to the Leville to freshen up and have a nap. Bob, you’ll escort me, won’t you?”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

Ignis blinks, impressed by the sheer force of her polite commands. Luna sweeps from the picnic area with Bob in tow, leaving Ravus and Ignis seated across from each other at the table.

“Shall we walk?” Ravus suggests. “I’ve had my fill of hospitals and can’t sit still for a minute more.”

“Yes,” Ignis agrees, glad to have something to do. “Would you mind?”

He holds out a hand for Ravus to take. It isn’t often that Ignis asks for a guide. He knows the city well. If Ravus is surprised, it doesn’t show in his body language. Instead, he tucks Ignis’ hand under his elbow and they set off.

It takes Ravus a few steps to remember to check his pace slightly. He has longer legs, and accidentally drags Ignis along at doubletime before he remembers himself.

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

Ignis shrugs it off. “Gladio does the same thing. Keeps me sharp. Don’t worry about it.”

Ravus chuckles a little at that. “I thought we’d go to the lookout,” he says. “Seems like you have something on your mind.”

“I do.”

“Alright, step down. The railing’s on your right, if you like.”

Ignis stretches out a hand and finds the bannister to the concrete steps. There are two tiers of stairs, though he forgets the exact count of steps. Ravus warns him before he can take a misstep and they arrive safely at the observation balcony. The Disc of Cauthess in the distance must be spectacular in the fading light. They stand and face the desert. Ignis cannot see it, but the memory paints his imagination, heightened by the feel of the dry wind and the fine particles of sand that dust his face.

“I’d like to apologize for my outburst,” Ignis begins. “It’s not the first time I’ve drawn a knife on you in the midst of a blind panic and I’m sorry.”

“Accepted,” Ravus says simply. Behind his visor, Ignis blinks. He had expected the prince to deny his aching guilt, and thereby make him feel even worse.

“Really. As you said, it’s not the first time. I’m only sorry it happened at all.”

Ignis nods. “Thank you.”

They could stop here. It’s closure of a sort. The conversation could come to an end. Ravus could walk him back to the apartment, return to the Leville alone, but Ignis doesn’t want that.

Taking a deep breath, he listens. The lookout must be empty today. All he hears is the sound of traffic from the throughway, and the distant cry of birds and the hum of insects.

“Are there many people about?”

“It’s a Wednesday afternoon. We’re the only ones here.”

Ignis swallows, but it does nothing to loosen the words clogged in his throat. “Good. I’d rather what I have to say be for your ears alone.”

Ravus turns to face him, head tilted in either curiosity or concern. Ignis cannot tell.

“Do you know why I attacked you?”

“I assume you had a nightmare.”

“I did. How much did Luna tell you?”

Ravus shakes his head. “Nothing. She thought I should hear it from you. I must say I’m in terrible suspense. You’re both being very mysterious.”

Ignis fumbles with the internal mechanisms in his brain. Everything’s locked up. He can’t speak. Words are piling up in the dam of his closed throat. Prompto’s voice comes to him out of nowhere: _Quick, like a Band-Aid._ Something disengages. The brake loosened, the words pour out whether Ignis wants them to or not.

“I dreamed we were married. That’s not why I stabbed you!” Ignis adds hastily. “It’s…”

He takes a deep breath and tries again.

“I dreamed we were married. In love. One in body and spirit. You had both your arms, and I had my eyes. I could _see_ you. I could see your face and it was the most beautiful thing…”

He has to stop, gather himself. Ravus lays his right hand over Ignis’ left. Ignis turns his own hand and grips Ravus’ fingertips. They stand silent until Ignis can speak again.

“You told me it was all a bad dream; a bad dream I’d had before. You never said so, but I got the impression- as one does in dreams- that Noctis and Lunafreya were alive and well with a brood of children. You told me I was Duke of Piztala. Your husband.”

The words hang between them, tense and awkward.

“You bid me lie down and go back to sleep, held me in your arms. You kissed me and kissed me and at first I enjoyed it but...but then something changed. It wasn’t you. It was your face, but a stranger looked out of your eyes. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong, too heavy. He tried to force himself on me.”

Ravus’ grip has tightened so that Ignis’ fingers are beginning to smart.

“And then?” Ravus asks.

“And then I woke up. I felt hands on me, and a great weight on my chest, and I thought he must still be on top of me, so I summoned a dagger and I struck. And then I saw your face. I don’t know how, perhaps I was still half-asleep, but I swear on my parent’s grave I _saw your face_ and wish to gods I hadn’t. You looked...so hurt. Betrayed. And it was my fault.”

Ravus steps closer, telegraphing his intentions as broadly as he can. Ignis can see motion, and so Ravus gives him motion to see, lifting his free arm and edging closer.

“May I?” he asks, hand hovering above Ignis’ shoulder, not daring to touch.

Ignis nods and leans into Ravus’ offered hug, snugging his arms around him in turn.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Ravus’ shoulder. “I’m sorry. I swear I thought you were someone else.”

“I place no blame on you,” Ravus says quietly. “I wish I had been there to watch over you. Perhaps he would not have dared to touch you.”

Ignis shakes his head and pulls back enough that he can catch the shadow of Ravus’ speech. The detail is better somehow; sharper. Perhaps it is Luna’s doing?

“You know, I’m not even upset about that.”

There’s a jerk of motion as Ravus draws his chin in, obviously confused and not a little disgusted. Ignis fancies he can see his brows sink and the corners of his mouth turn down. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to get fresh with me, much less that old lecher,” Ignis shrugs. Ravus’ mouth opens and closes in mute fury.

“Please don’t take on,” Ignis begs. “You needn’t be offended on my behalf. I’m mostly annoyed that I didn’t come to my senses sooner.”

“You were _asleep_ ,” Ravus points out. “No one expects you to sleep with one eye open.”

“I can’t anyway,” Ignis says with a twisted grin and Ravus laughs despite himself. “As I said, I’m not that fussed about Izunia getting in my personal space. It’s that he knew my heart’s desire, and tried to use it against me.”

“...Ignis?” The hand around Ignis’ has gone shaky.

“Luna and I had an epiphany as to why Izunia keeps making a nuisance of himself.”

“I think trying to kill you qualifies as more than a nuisance,” Ravus grumbles.

“He wasn’t trying to kill me. Rather, I’m sure he was, but my death wasn’t the end goal.”

Ravus cocks his head, confused. “I don’t follow.”

“It’s not my demise he wanted, but ours.”

“Ours?” Ravus echoes lost.

“Our relationship. Or rather, the one we might have if I’d stop being such a godsdamned coward.”

Ravus stands silent, stunned. Ignis plows ahead.

“I can’t be Lord Regent forever. Not on my own. I am not the Chosen King, I’m only a nurse. While Noctis is absent, I’ll keep things from sinking into chaos to the best of my ability, but I can’t do it alone.

“You asked me once what I would do with myself after Noctis…” Ignis stops short, swallows hard. Even now, it’s difficult to make himself say it. “After Noctis is...gone. Until recently, I did not know. I had fully expected the Ring to claim my life. No one was more surprised than I when I came to, still alive. All of us- Gladio, Prompto, myself- expect to be struck down before that day comes. I don’t think any of us expect to live longer than our king.”

Ravus nods. “I too did not expect to live. All my life, I have been superfluous. Unnecessary. A curiosity at best, a bad omen at worst. Both of us have been given the gift of time, and I confess I’ve no idea as to what to do with it.”

Ignis nods, trying to think of what to say next. This is strange and frightening and he has no idea what he’s doing. He always knows what he’s doing. Not this time.

“Noctis has kept us waiting for three years, who knows how long it will take him to return?” He pauses, steels himself. “It isn’t fair or right to put our lives on hold for him. If he were here now, I know what he would tell me. I can hear the words in my head as clearly as if he were here speaking: ‘Just do whatever, Specs. No need to wait around for me.’”

Ravus gapes, flounders for words, but finds none. His heart has come to a dead stop. Can Ignis truly mean what Ravus thinks he means?

“You asked me once if I could learn to serve another king, and I’m afraid my answer is ‘no’.”

Ravus feels his heart drop out of his body. He’s turned to ice; frozen and hollow. Of course. He should have known better. Ignis, however, isn’t finished.

“I cannot forswear my allegiance to Noctis while he’s still alive. I will always love him, will defend him with my dying breath. My whole life, that’s been my only purpose.” He turns, smooths a hand up Ravus’ arm, allowing it to come to rest just above his elbow.

“Now I have another.”

Ravus cannot take the suspense any longer. “Ignis?”

“I’ve kept you waiting long enough.”

“So… So you return my feelings? You want to try?”

“If you’re still interested, yes.”

Ravus feels that he could light up all of Duscae by virtue of the joy radiating from every fibre of his being. The dramatic in him wants to pull Ignis into a kiss, but he knows by now how that will go. Instead he pulls him close and hugs him tight. Ignis’ arms going around him in return forces a lump into his throat and tears to his eyes. Six, it feels like forever he’s waited for this. Unable to help himself, he kisses Ignis’ temple as if it were his lips; hard and happy and a little sloppy. Ignis blushes, but he’s smiling.

“You missed,” he says, and stretches to touch his lips to Ravus’.

Ravus cups Ignis’ cheek with his right hand, tucks him to him with his left. It’s not passionate, or even very romantic, but it’s the happiest he’s ever been. It’s only the first step, the first stage, but Ignis will be with him. That’s all that matters.


End file.
